


Our Destinies Our Own

by katherynefromphilly



Series: We Begin Again [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Beautiful Art by Lao Pendragon, Brief Homophobic Content, Coming to terms with a relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Feels, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Jealous Arthur, Jealousy Driven Sex, M/M, Masturbation, POV Arthur, POV Merlin, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Sexual Content, coming to terms with sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 96,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherynefromphilly/pseuds/katherynefromphilly
Summary: In the few weeks since Arthur stepped out of Lake Avalon, he's been confronted by perplexing technology, ancient prophecy, and belated epiphany about his true feelings for his manservant turned friend turned sorcerer turned- god help him- lover.With prophecy fulfilled, Arthur and Merlin now face a new adventure:  Finding their place in the modern world.This is a story of what happens next.  After Arthur and Merlin save the world and find each other.  Of how an immortal sorcerer and an ancient king learn to move away from the past, and on toward the future, in love and together.***Story contains:banter, sass, mockery of mobile usage, cuddling, verbal abuse of technology, flirting, bedsharing, jealousy, a lot of sex, and even more fluff





	1. another challenge to be conquered

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read as a standalone.
> 
> If you have read "And Like The Cycle Of The Year We Begin Again", this story begins the same day that story ends.***
> 
> Story Downloads which include the Artwork are available at the end of the story.

Arthur swayed in his seat as Merlin drove them through the roundabout. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going to the exit you told me, right there-”

“I didn’t say that exit, I said the one beyond that one-”

“Are you kidding me?” Merlin glanced wildly around to avoid the other equally homicidal drivers, then veered them across two lanes and out their exit.

As they merged onto yet another insane outer London road, Arthur banged his elbow against the passenger’s door and dropped his mobile.  “Will you be more careful!”  He picked up the device and brushed dirt from its surface, only to accidentally banish the map.  “Dammit...“

“You didn’t break your precious mobile did you?” Merlin asked sweetly, giving him such a smug, condescending look that by all rights Arthur should be infuriated.

He wasn't, however.  Just the opposite, in fact.  And really, Arthur thought, that was simply unfair.  That Merlin could be both irritating and endearing and enticing all at once.

But somehow Merlin was managing it, and had been thew entire endless car ride from Avalon to London.  After so many hours cooped up in Merlin’s old Bentley, they should both be at each other’s throats. But instead, Arthur caught himself once again distracted by way Merlin’s blue t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, and the twilight sky glowing upon his bare neck, and the creaking of worn leather seat beneath the round shape of his backside, as Merlin shifted behind the wheel.

“A good thing you didn’t have a mobile in Camelot,” Merlin noted.  “You would have forgotten all about ruling the kingdom.”

“You’re just jealous that I can use it better than you, fortunately for us both, because otherwise you would have driven us into the Eastern Sea by now.”

“Sorry, whose fault was it to forget to bring the power cord for the GPS?”

“Remind me again- Which one of us had even heard of a GPS prior to few weeks ago?”

“Well technically it wasn’t a few weeks, it was actually-“

“My point, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, “is that it’s a good thing I know how to find our way on my mobile at all, because otherwise, we’d be lost.”

“I happen to have an excellent sense of direction.”

Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms.

“And I’m an exceptionally skilled driver.”

“Yes, but it’s hardly a difficult skill, is it.”

“Says the man who nearly ran over a cow the one and only time he got behind the wheel.”

“That cow intentionally blocked our path!”

Merlin burst out laughing, his blue eyes gone crescent shaped, his full lips pulled into a youthful smile.

Arthur stared at the sight wearing what he knew was a entirely stupid and embarrassingly besotted smile.  But he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Every time he’d drawn out the young man Merlin had once been in Camelot, he felt as though he was standing upon the jousting field, having just won another tourney. 

“Intentionally blocked your path,” Merlin chuckled, sounding so carefree that Arthur's cheeks actually hurt from his grin. 

Merlin’s good spirits lasted until Arthur directed them onto another motorway towards London, this one three lanes wide in each direction, and elevated high above the ground. 

Merlin swore in the old language as he accelerated wildly up a narrow ramp, merging into a chaos of cars and lorries and buses, all careening down the roadway at harrowing close quarters.

We’re safe, Arthur reminded himself, as he watched the vehicles flying past.  More than once Merlin had reassured him that he could prevent any accident with his magic. 

Though come to think of it, that had been on a road with fewer cars.  And slower drivers.  And at street level.

“Everyone’s in such a bloody rush these days,” Merlin grumbled, once again sounding like the old man he truly was.

Arthur watched a car full of old women overtake them. “Are we travelling at the proper speed?”

“This car is a _classic_ , Arthur. I don’t want to push the engine.  This is already the farthest I’ve driven her in one day, the poor old girl.”

Arthur wondered if it was the farthest Merlin had driven it at all.  But he decided not to dredge up those long lonely centuries Merlin had spent waiting in Avalon.  Merlin was preoccupied enough, stiff backed and narrow eyed as he guided their car to the outermost lane. Best not to distract him with his lonely past.

Instead, Arthur stared out the passenger’s window, at the buildings flying past, and the thousands of jumbled discordant structures stretching to the distant horizon.

It was unsettling, travelling by car at such speed.  He had no sense of distance covered.  No feel for his location.  Even though the mobile map’s blue dot tracked their position – its accuracy not by magic but by mind-boggling _technology_ – Arthur felt more disoriented than he ever had done on a journey.

Even the sky was of no aid.  Indigo clouds lay thick along the horizon, obscuring the fading sunset and masking true west.  Not that it would be of any help to know the  direction anyway. Not with the road winding back and forth like a drunken horse cart driver.

“Ten miles to London,” Arthur reported, when they passed a sign bearing this unwelcome news.  “Good lord, how are we not there yet?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.” 

Arthur cringed at a truck engine roaring by.  “Yes, but when?”

“That depends, sire, on how many more times you get us lost.”

“Me?  That was your fault!”

“How was that my fault? I’m not the one who waited until our exit was two seconds away before telling me to take it.  That was-  Bloody hell will you just overtake!”

Arthur grabbed the door handle as Merlin changed lanes yet again, this time to let a lorry thunder past, the vehicle so massive that its spinning black wheels stood taller than their car.  Once it passed, the behemoth moved directly in front of them, close enough that Merlin jammed his foot on the brakes and Arthur had to grab hard onto the dashboard. 

“You utter pillock!” Merlin yelled at the driver.

“You do realise he can’t hear you-" 

“ _Really_ not the point.”

Arthur realised he was pressing his back into his seat, unnerved at the sight of the massive vehicle ahead. “ _Must_ you drive so close?" 

Merlin glared at him.

“Never mind,” Arthur grumbled, and turned to look out his window.

Below their elevated motorway, a labyrinth of streets wound through houses and shops and trees.  Cars and lorries and cabs glided ceaselessly upon them, a chaotic dance that made no sense at all.

“How do they keep from getting lost?” Arthur found himself asking.

“Same way as we have been. Well.  As we _mostly_ have been.”

“Why mostly?”

“I was using magic to navigate us for a while.  To double check the directions you were giving me.”

“Are you telling me you don’t actually need me to tell you where to go?  Gods above, if that’s the case, then why am I bothering to-“

“Don’t,” Merlin said sharply, when he saw Arthur begin to dismiss the map. “I mean- Not yet.  Not until we get to London.”

“Why don’t you just use your magic?”

“And prevent you the fun of bossing me around?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin’s all too familiar tone, recognising both it and the forced smile that accompanied it.  “ _Please_ tell me you weren’t always this bad at lying,” he said, fighting back the old irritation. “Because that would be truly humiliating.”

Merlin shifted in his seat, fingers white knuckled upon the wheel.

“The _truth_ , Merlin."

“Look, it’s not a big deal,” Merlin said, his tone oddly strained.  “It’s just… Tricky. To use magic to see the path ahead.  When there’s so much around me.”

“So much what?”

“So much… everything.” Merlin frowned as he stared down the road, a golden light dancing in his eyes that had nothing to do with the twilight.   “It’s all a jumble.  Like a maze in a puzzle box.  No beginning to it.  No end.  It just… It goes on and on... Path upon path…”

Arthur saw Merlin’s fingers loosen upon the wheel, pulling the car sideways.  “Merlin!”

Merlin jolted in his seat and steered them back into their lane, only barely avoiding colliding with the black cab speeding past.

The cab driver beeped and yelled at them, gesturing rudely enough that Merlin shouted a long string of epithets in Brittonic after him, finishing with a threat to turn the man into a donkey, because clearly he was a gigantic ass.

“You will _not_ turn that man into a donkey,” Arthur heard himself say, and then ruined the admonishment by laughing. Honestly, the things he had to tell his overprotective sorcerer… 

“Fine, a goat,” Merlin grumbled, still sounding as if he were actually considering it.

“Not a goat either.”

Merlin glanced over, saw Arthur’s smile, and offered a small one of his own. “What about a very small toad?”

“There will be no turning anyone into any sort of creature whatsoever.”

“If you say so, sire.”

“I do say so, yes.”

“Probably for the best.  Being a toad is far too good for the likes of him.”

“Is it?”

“It’s rather peaceful, actually.  Being a toad.”

“And you know this how?” Arthur asked, before he could stop the damn fool question from coming out of his mouth.

“I was a toad for an entire spring, one year,” Merlin said, sounding wistful about it, as if recounting a pleasant childhood picnic.  “It was quite nice, actually.  Sitting by the water’s edge.  Enjoying the cool mud on my skin.  Hopping around wherever I wanted to go.   That was my favourite bit.  The hopping.”

“The hopping,” Arthur repeated, entirely distracted by a sudden mental image of Merlin as a _toad_. 

He was picturing a tiny red neckerchief.  And a set of large brown rounded ears.  Did toads even have ears?  Gods above what was he even thinking?

“The flies do take some getting used to though,” Merlin went on.  “They’re oddly crunchy.”

“Merlin-”

“And they taste like-”

“If you say ‘chicken’ I’m going to toss you out of this car and drive to the hotel by myself.”

Merlin’s face lit up with one of his truly delighted smiles, as if Arthur had just said something brilliant, instead of threatening him with bodily harm.

Arthur ruffled the back of Merlin’s hair in lieu of smacking him, though he hadn't meant to do that at all.  _Besotted fool,_ he scolded himself, and dropped his arm across the joined seatbacks, fingertips idly drifting back and forth along the neckline of Merlin's blue t-shirt.

"You can keep doing _that_ all the way to London," Merlin sighed, leaning back into the touch, for the first time in several hours looking relaxed behind the wheel.

"Spoiled child," Arthur told him, but didn't stop. 

It took another half hour until they reached the exit from the nightmare motorway.  After Arthur guided them down the ramp, they emerged onto a four lane road, two lanes in either direction, thankfully back on upon solid ground.

Arthur paid close attention to the map, successfully navigating them through a roundabout and onto the stretch of vehicle-clogged road to the city centre.  Multi-story stone buildings lined the street closest to his window.  Houses and shops sat amid trees along the other. The street lamps had come on, a pale glow against the twilight, as yet unneeded by the people strolling upon the pavement.

Arthur had time to take in every detail, they were moving so slowly.  “Is the traffic always like this?  Gods’ sakes, we could walk faster.”

As if to mock him, the vehicles ahead of them eased to a stop, the cars in the adjoining lane doing the same.  Merlin snorted and shifted the car into park.  “See what you did, now?”

“Oh shut up.” Arthur glared down the road at the lorry blocking the traffic.  Two men in blue uniforms were opening its back doors, to haul out an enormous box.

“Delivery for one of the shops, I’m thinking.”

Arthur shifted in his seat, rubbing circulation into legs gone numb from sitting.  “How much longer to the city centre?”

“Depends on the traffic.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur muttered.  “Gods above, what I wouldn’t give for a horse…”

With the words came a rush of memory, of riding on horseback through broad open meadows, through morning air fresh with dew, and the voices of his knights all around him, their red capes fluttering against forest green.

The memory was agonizingly clear, even surrounded by the modern world.  He could still see it there in his mind’s eye.  His beautiful castle, there upon the hill.  Its turrets and towers shining in the sun.  Protecting all those he held dear.  All those he loved.

All who were dead. 

Save one.

Arthur closed his eyes, grief slicing like a blade, pressing the breath from his lungs, just as merciless and cruel as his first day returned from the dead.

“At least there are trees,” Merlin noted.

Arthur drew in an unsteady deep breath and opened eyes to a world gone blurry.  After scrubbing both his hands over his face and through his hair, he collected himself enough to respond. “What did you say?”

“The trees.”  Merlin pointed at the trees dotting the street ahead.  “I thought it would be more lifeless this close to the heart of the city.  But there’s trees.”

Arthur leaned forward in his seat, distracting himself with the modern world.  Which was the only world he had, now. 

But the grand stone buildings along the canyon of the street felt oppressive.  Holding echoes of Camlann’s jagged valleys. And the bloodied killing fields below.

“We can’t be more than a half hour away,” Merlin said.

“I see a place we can stay, right there down the road.”

Merlin’s screwed up his expression in obvious distaste.  “We are not staying at some grotty roadside inn.”

“Since when did you develop such high standards in lodgings?”

“Since the British Museum went to a lot of trouble to put us up for free in an exclusive hotel.”

“As well they should, considering the value of the paintings you sold them.”

“And the manuscripts I donated,” Merlin added, clearly suggesting Arthur should have mentioned that first. 

“Ah yes, your precious books-”

“They’re not books, they’re valuable manuscripts-“

“Written by you, so how valuable can they be?”

“ _Extremely_ valuable,” Merlin said, his indignant tone making Arthur smile. “Nowhere on this _planet_ is there an account of the story of Camelot in Common Brittonic, with a full translation-“

“Into Old English, yes, yes, so you’ve been saying for the past several hours-“

“So that means,” Merlin went on, undaunted, “that my donated manuscripts are worth more than all the paintings I sold them put together, including the DaVinci.”

“Yes, fine, they’re precious artifacts,” Arthur said, earning a groan of utter exasperation from the man beside him.  But honestly, after ten solid hours of Merlin crowing about his books, Arthur had definitely heard enough.

“Also,” Merlin said, “the hotel we’re staying in is by invitation. The only people who are allowed to stay there are politicians or nobility or-”

“Like you,” Arthur said quickly, because he was never, ever going to pass up a chance of mocking Merlin for his lands or his money.

“I am _not_ nobility.”

“Lord Merlin Hunithson of Avalon-“

“As I was saying-“

“Landowner of Hunithson Woods-“

“About _the hotel_ -“

“And Abbernathy Manor upon Hillside-“

“All _right_!”

Arthur choked out a laugh and grinned out the window.

“As I was saying,” Merlin said, sounding seconds away from turning his king into a frog, “it’s politicians, nobility, or people invited by the British Museum, like me.  But fortunately for you, the hotel is quite experienced with catering to spoiled nobility.  So you can be a gigantic royal prat to your heart’s content, and boss everyone around all you want.”

“Trying to shirk your duties, then, are you?”

“Now when have I ever done that?  Well.  Except for those times when you told me to do something stupid.  Or those other times you put your own safety at risk.  Or those other times when-”

“I’m well aware of your long history of disobedience and sloth,” Arthur said, and gave him a scolding look.

Merlin smiled, looking proud.

Arthur laughed, relieved as always that the easiness between them hadn’t been lost.  Not after fifteen centuries of separation, and not in the face of the new form their relationship had taken either.

He leaned closer, his hand sliding up the stretch of Merlin’s bare neck, fingertips dragging along the ends of his hair.  Merlin’s eyes drifted closed, his lips parting on a breath, as Arthur slid his fingers through thick black strands he’d apparently always longed to touch, judging by how he couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore.

How on earth didn’t I ever realise? Arthur wondered once again.  Because it was laughingly obvious to him now.  How he truly felt for the man at his side.  What Merlin was, and would always be to him.

“Feels nice,” Merlin sighed.

Arthur watched him lean into his caress, as responsive as always. 

And _good lord_ was Merlin responsive.  Especially in their bed.  Arthur’s slightest touch could have Merlin shivering, could make him arch and writhe and moan for more. It stole Arthur’s breath away sometimes, seeing Merlin stretched out like that upon the sheets, all long limbs and ivory skin, midnight hair and parted lips, everything that was beautiful in the world, contained within this one astonishing man.

“How much longer to the hotel?” Arthur heard himself ask, his voice gone rough.

“Eager to see the city, are you?”

“Quite eager. Though not, at this particular moment, to see the city.”

“Really?” Merlin whispered, and blinked open curious blue eyes.

There it was again, Arthur thought.  Merlin's doubt. As if he was unsure of Arthur’s heart.  As if Arthur could be anything but hopelessly in love with this person who was his friend, his lover, his destiny, his _everything_.

He ached to take those doubts away. He intended to, in fact. He’d decided it that first night they’d spent together in Avalon.  He even had the rings of promise safely in his pocket.  But he couldn’t act on his desires yet.  Not until they’d left this city.  Not until they left the painful past behind. 

Only then would he ask Merlin the question he wanted.  The question that burned upon his lips even now.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, sounding worried.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and pulled Merlin close, to press a kiss to his lips.

He’d meant for it to be brief reassurance. But Merlin responded to it as if to a lifeline.  He leaned into it, moaning, with lips parting and tongue sliding in.  Hungry and desperate, as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. 

Arthur fell into it as if off a cliff, slotting their mouths together with tongue licking against the slick heat of Merlin’s own, no finesse to it whatsoever, because _gods above_ it had been a long drive.  Groaning, he twisted his fingers in Merlin’s hair, holding him still to taste the heat of Merlin’s mouth.

A loud beep startled them apart.

Merlin twisted round, breathless, to look out the back window, then winced at the harsh headlights of the car behind them. 

“What the hell is his problem?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin glanced at the front windscreen.  “That, maybe?”

Traffic had cleared in the lanes ahead.  Cars in the neighbouring lane were moving forward, the drivers sending aggravated looks their way.

Arthur ignored them, distracted by the moisture shining upon Merlin’s lush bottom lip.  He slid his fingertip over it, earning a soft gasp.  Responsive, _oh hell_ , he was so damned responsive…  “How long until we get to the hotel did you say?”

Merlin licked at Arthur’s finger.  “Too long.”

“Far too long,” Arthur agreed, leaning in to kiss him again.

Merlin fell easily into it, less desperate this time, pleasantly yielding to the soft presses of Arthur’s lips.  “We should… Maybe… Go…”  A pause in words, as Arthur kissed him longer, before relenting.  “There’s… The people are…“

“Let them wait,” Arthur said, and bent to lick at the Merlin’s neck, right below his ear, a spot that had been tormenting him the entire drive.

Merlin’s hand clutched at his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric as Arthur dragged his tongue over warm skin. “Yes, yes, definitely, they can wait…”

More beeping had Arthur jerking in his seat to glare out of the back window.  “Will you bugger off!”

Merlin burst out laughing, then slapped a hand to his mouth.

Arthur gave him a look of profound offense.

“No- it’s just- You said ‘bugger off’.”

“I used it correctly.”

“Yes, yes, you did,” Merlin said, and gave him one of those smiles that tilted the world on its axis, shoving all of Arthur’s irritation out of his head, leaving only affection behind.

Unfair, Arthur thought again, and shifted in his seat to adjust his jeans. “Well come on then.  You’d better get us moving, before I change my mind.”

“About what?”

“About letting you turn people into livestock.”

Merlin fell into laughter once again, forcing Arthur to scold him for swerving, though half-heartedly to be sure.

The traffic thickened as they drove into the heart of London, the painstakingly slow journey taking so long that night began to darken the summer skies.  The streets, however, remained filled with light, cool blue shining from tall streetlamps onto the canyon of the roads, warm yellow glowing from shop and restaurant windows.  On the streets, white car headlights lit the way, amid red and blue flashing street signs.

When they reached the Thames, Arthur squinted up at the brilliantly lit clock face upon its tower. “Looks like the damn sun,” he said, as they drove over the stone bridge spanning the Thames. Cars and taxis and buses filled the lanes around them. Along the margin of the bridge, the pavements were crowded with people.  “No wonder everyone is still awake, with all this light.”

“This is Westminster,” Merlin said, peering out at the city around them as he eased his car forward in the traffic. “There’s too much to do here to sleep.”

All along the river, Arthur saw stone buildings amid shining steel and glass. Above it all, the bright blue circle of the London Eye glowed ghostly and surreal. “Is it ever dark here?”

“Since electricity?  Probably not.  Well.  Except for during the war.  But they don’t shut the lights off anymore.  I don’t think.”

Arthur looked at Merlin’s dim profile, remembering that this was his first time here as well. What must it be like for him, to finally be in this place?  He must have watched it through his crystals over the years.  Surely it wasn’t so strange for him to be here after seeing it for so long?  He’d looked forward to coming here a long time, he’d said.

Yet Merlin was frowning at the scenery around him, more displeased than Arthur expected, as wary as ever he had been when venturing into foreign territories.

“Move into the far lane over there,” Arthur told him. “You’ll need to turn left after the bridge.”

“You’re actually telling me about a turn more than two seconds before?  What’s the special occasion?”

“The occasion is us reaching our hotel in one piece,” Arthur said, and returned his attention to his map.

Their last few turns took them through narrow streets lined with more tall imposing stone buildings.  Their destination, it turned out, was a driveway set right into one of them.   They followed it beneath an arched tunnel set into the building’s façade.  After driving through it, they emerged into a stone courtyard open to the sky above.  Its circular driveway looped around a small fountain, beyond which Arthur could see wide glass doors set into the façade of an ornately decorated stone building. 

Merlin stopped the car and peered up through the windshield.

“This is the hotel?” Arthur asked, because no establishment name hung above the glass entrance doors.

“I told you it was exclusive,” Merlin said, and climbed from the car, brown jacket in hand.

Arthur shrugged on his black jacket against the chill of the evening. He’d only just closed his car door when four men marched out of the entrance, all dressed in black trousers and suit jackets, their shirts brilliantly white even in the faint courtyard light.

An older grey haired man followed them out the door, thin with advanced age but walking straight shouldered with hands clasped behind his back.  Unlike the others, he wore a deep red velvet jacket bearing a yellow crest of a lion and a crown.

“My lords Pendragon and Hunithson,” the older man said, and bowed at the neck, his gaze lowering to the ground. 

Behind him, the four uniformed men did the same. 

The gesture of respect was so unexpected but so _welcome_ that Arthur briefly fell silent in his shock.

“I’m not a _lord_ ,” Merlin said into the silence, entirely ruining the moment.

“Please excuse Lord Hunithson,” Arthur said, and dropped a hand onto Merlin’s shoulder, hard.  “He has an odd sense of humour.”

The older gentleman simply nodded, clearly familiar enough with royal protocol to know what to ignore, and when to ignore it.  It put Arthur in mind of Geoffrey, though this man was half his size, and thin enough to be blown over by a strong river breeze.

“My lords,” the old man said.  “I am William Preston Hartwick of Derby, your Concierge Première.  It would be my honour to escort my lords to their residence, while the staff tends to the car and the luggage.”

A young man marched forward and extended his hand, palm up.  “Your keys, my lord?”

“I can park it myself,” Merlin informed him.

“Let them do it, Merlin,” Arthur said through a clenched teeth smile.

Merlin reluctantly pulled the keys from his pocket. “There’s not to be a single scratch on it, understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” the young man said.

Merlin’s cheek twitched, but he didn’t protest the title, as he dangled the keys over the man’s hand. “It’s an irreplaceable antique, you know.  The first automatic off the line at Bentley after the war.  The _very_ first.  I’ve owned it since nineteen forty-six, and-”

“He means his grandfather,” Arthur interrupted.

“I- what?”

“You didn’t own it.  Your grandfather.”

Merlin gave Arthur an irritated look.  “ _Any_ way, as I was saying, it’s all original.  Not a single part restored, mind you, right down to the-“

“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Arthur said, grabbing the keys and handing them over.

Merlin grumbled all the way to the front doors, where William stood waiting.

“You are such an old woman about that car,” Arthur told him.

“That’s because I am an old woman. I mean an old man.”

“I think you had it right the first time,” Arthur said, and stepped with Merlin through the doors the young men opened for them.

 “I actually have been an old woman before, actually,” Merlin said thoughtfully.  “More than once.”

“You- What?“

“And a young woman too.  On a few occasions, actually.  I remember this one time in the seventeen hundreds when… I…”

Arthur glanced over in time to see Merlin’s eyes go wide, and his lips part on a surprised ‘oh’.  Following Merlin’s gaze, he found himself staring as well.

Because hotel lobby was, in a word, palatial.

William stepped before them, and swept out an arm.  “Welcome, my lords, to Le Hôtel Royale.”

In absolute wonder Arthur walked into an entrance hall easily the size of his castle’s entire courtyard.  Its three story high ceilings were supported by thick marble columns wound with lush ivy growing up from small urns. Massive paintings adorned the walls, interspersed by mirrors that reflected light from the crystal chandeliers high above.

Politicians and royalty, Arthur thought.  Merlin had been right about that, judging by the finely dressed men and women reclining upon the velvet sofas and black leather chairs.  “Why on earth,” Arthur grumbled, “did you not warn me about the attire?”

“What’s wrong with what we’re wearing?” Merlin asked, glancing at his ratty jacket and jeans and t-shirt.

“After all these years, how do you still have no idea whatsoever what it means to be presentable in public?”

“Just luck, I suppose,” Merlin said absently, sliding his fingers along a marble column as they walked past.

Arthur glanced at a small cherry tree nearby, noticing actual cherries hanging from its small branches. The hotel had gone to even greater lengths than this, to bring the outdoors inside.  They’d even covered the far lobby wall into an entire mountainside. 

Rocks jutted out from its surface, grey and black and dotted with plants.  In a distant corner, a waterfall cascaded from a groove in the ceiling, splashing over the stones and into the pond stretching along the rockface wall.

William led them toward it, to a narrow bridge that crossed the pond.  He had to unhook a velvet rope that barred access to both the bridge and to a concealed door hidden by vines in the far rock wall.

Merlin paused on the bridge to stare down into the water.  “Look at the size of them!”

Beneath the clear water, among the flowering lily pads, Arthur saw dozens of fat fish spotted in red and orange and yellow. “Must everything in this century be the colour of tropical birds?”

Merlin dropped to a knee and leaned forward to dip his fingertips into the water. “What a good idea, having a pond full of fish indoors.  That sure would have come in handy in the castle.”

“How, exactly, would it have been helpful to have a pond in my castle?”

“Fresh fish in winter?  Without freezing to death breaking the ice to catch them? Not that you ever had to do any of that,” he added, and gave Arthur a look that said he remembered every winter fishing expedition Arthur had ever dragged him on.

“If you recall, I was always too busy hunting up our dinner.  Not that you ever had to do any of that.  And in any case,” he added, when Merlin clearly was about to protest, “these fish wouldn’t have been any use.  They’re the colour of those caterpillars that had Gwaine talking to the gargoyles for three days.”

“Fish aren’t like caterpillars. The bright colour doesn’t mean you can’t eat them.”

“I think it does,” Arthur stated, and looked to William, to gauge his opinion on the matter.

William, however, was wearing a strained smile Arthur knew too well. He’d worn that expression himself more than once, while watching visiting nobility tear into their roast chicken with manure coated hands--despite the utensils on offer.

“It’s all hypothetical,” Arthur added quickly. “Because these fish aren’t meant to be eaten.”

“They’re not?”

“Of course not.  Why would they eat these fish?  There’s an entire river beyond their front door.  They can get much all the fish they want, straight from the Thames.” 

William actually blanched at the words.

“Or not,” Arthur grumbled, embarrassment heating his cheeks, his shoulders drawing back in regal offense out of sheer reflex.  “Might I ask _why_ , incidentally, we’re still standing here?”

The older man’s expression slid smoothly back into deference, actually seeming relieved, as if Arthur’s imperious behaviour were more comfortable ground.  “My sincerest apologies, my lord, for the unfortunate delay.  It shall end momentarily, upon the arrival of the private lift to our rooftop accommodations.”

“Our accommodations… are on the roof,” Arthur repeated, remembering the damp stone guardhouse atop the citadel, with its reeking nests of vindictive starlings.

“They are indeed, my lord.”

“Wonderful.” Arthur turned to lecture Merlin for his horrendous choice of lodging, but found him entirely preoccupied.

He’d got down on both knees by the walkway’s edge, and had extended both hands, wrist deep, into the water.  Every single fish in the pond had gathered beneath him.  One after the other, they swam beneath Merlin’s wiggling fingertips, as if all politely queued up for the honour of his touch.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Merlin was saying softly, very clearly addressing the fish. 

Arthur smacked Merlin sharply on the shoulder.

Merlin looked up, all startled wide blue eyes and arching dark eyebrows, absently petting another fish as it swam past.

“Get up,” Arthur commanded.  Or rather tried to command.  Because his damned voice had come out all stupidly soft and fond.

“I was only asking them if they got eaten,” Merlin said, shaking water from his hands as he got unsteadily to his feet.

“Of course you were,” Arthur said, catching hold of Merlin’s arm to keep him from pitching into the pond.  Which was even more damning evidence of how far gone he was on the idiot.  Because once, long ago, he would have been the first to push him into the water. 

“You were right, incidentally. They aren’t used as food.”

Arthur stared down at dozens of fish, all quite unnervingly staring back up at him.

“And a good thing, too,” Merlin went on.  “They’re very cultured fish.  And some are really old.  The white and black spotted male over there is over sixty!”

William made a startled noise, and began to ask a shocked question, breaching all royal protocol.  He caught himself barely in time, looking appalled at his lapse.

“They’re quite happy here,” Merlin told the old man. “It’s wonderful how well you treat them.  They tell me though-“

“Merlin-“

“I mean I _think_ , though,” Merlin said, somehow putting an eye roll in his tone, “that they would prefer more plants.  And some obstacles to swim through.  And some frogs for company.  They get bored.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Are you getting a headache?” Merlin asked.  “You look like you’re in pain.”

A bell sounded, and two doors set into the wall slid apart. “Oh look, what’s this?” Arthur asked overly loudly, and pulled Merlin into the tiny room.

As Merlin complained about his manners, Arthur turned a full circle, seeking an exit to the windowless space.   He’d only just realised there wasn’t one when the doors slid closed, and the entire damn room lurched, sending him staggering into Merlin’s side, nearly knocking them both into William.

Merlin choked out a laugh as he steadied Arthur by the arm. “It’s a lift, sire.”

Arthur yanked his arm free.  “I knew that.”

“Of course you did, my lord.”

“I should have let you fall into the pond,” Arthur muttered.

“Is there a pool here?” he asked William abruptly, startling the poor man.  “I know that some hotels have places to swim indoors.  Actually never stayed at a hotel with one of those.  And I’m assuming you don’t want me swimming in the pond, right?”

The old man stared open mouthed at Merlin’s grinning face, because somehow Merlin was conveying that perhaps he was joking and perhaps he wasn’t. 

When the tiny room lurched to a stop, Arthur staggered again, but kept his legs under him.

When the lift doors parted, they revealed an enormous sitting area, larger even than Arthur’s royal chambers in Camelot.  Painted portraits and landscapes hung amid gold framed mirrors, softly lit by the dozen or so lamps, scattered among three sofas, a half dozen passed chairs, and a scattering of wooden tables.

“The penthouse residence,” William announced. “I do hope it will be to my lords’ satisfaction.”

Merlin shared an incredulous glance with Arthur, then wandered out into the flat.  “So this… is the sitting room?”

“It is our hope that it will be sufficient for my lords’ entertainment purposes.  Should catering or personal services be required, we-“

“What are these draperies for?” Merlin asked, already tugging at the fabric lining one wall.

“The penthouse offers floor to ceiling windows on all exterior walls.  Beyond those particular draperies is a patio, should my lords wish to enjoy the city view from above.”

“There’s a patio,” Arthur said curiously, “on the _roof_.”

“Perhaps a full tour of the amenities would be of some assistance, my lord?”

“Yes,” Arthur told him. “Of course. That would be wonderful. Do show us the amenities.”

Merlin fell into step just behind Arthur as they followed William from the room.  “You have no idea what amenities means, do you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Merlin said, and then huffed out a laugh, when Arthur elbowed him.

With obvious pride, William lead them through the flat.  In excruciating detail he described the four hundred year old oak table in the dining room, the prestigious artwork upon the walls, and the list of visitors who had stayed in the residence before.

With great relief they reached the final stop in the tour, the largest of the five bedrooms.  Furniture and tables filled this room as well, draperies lining two of the walls.

In the middle of it all sat the largest bed Arthur had ever seen.  Thick white blankets draped over it like clouds, thick pillows stacked at its head. 

Right in the middle of William describing the washroom’s four sinks, shower, and Jacuzzi bath, Merlin gave an enormous groan of pleasure.

“That looks _so_ _comfortable_ ,” Merlin moaned out, and stumbled forward.

Arthur caught his arm.  “First, unpack our things.  Then you can sleep.”

William stepped forward.  “The staff would be happy to provide my lords with such services-”

“Lord Hunithson is very particular about his things,” Arthur cut in, before Merlin could respond.  “As am I.  So he’ll tend to the unpacking.”

Merlin mumbled “arse” at Arthur’s back as they returned to the living room.  Their luggage had been stacked by the front door, apparently delivered by the hotel staff.  William paused beside it all, looking uncertain.

“That will be all, William,” Arthur told him.

“I shall remain ready to assist at any time, my lord,” the older gentleman said, and after giving Merlin an odd look, bowed to them both and left the flat.

When he’d gone, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and studied the abundance of sofas, chairs, tables, and other countless decorations filling the room.  “Why, I ask you, does anyone need _three_ sofas?”

Merlin dragged his fingertips over the back of one of them, leaving trails in the brushed velvet. “I had no idea that this place would be so…”

“Excessive?”

Merlin poked at a lampshade tassel. “That’s putting lightly.”

Arthur stepped toward the stone fireplace, which was larger than his own had been in Camelot. “Just how spoiled is modern nobility?”

“Just as spoiled as ancient nobility was,” Merlin said, then quickly ducked the pillow Arthur threw at his head.  It crashed into a crystal lamp, knocking it to the floor.

Arthur cringed until he realised no sound of breaking glass had occurred.

When Merlin picked it up, it was entirely undamaged. “That really is some thick carpet.”

“You should get some for the manor.” Arthur moved further into the room, a hand dragging over the textured wall, until his fingers bumped into some sort of panel set into it.  When he pressed it, all the lights in the adjoining dining room went out. “Now why would this affect that over there?”

“The same reason they have a telly remote but no telly?” Merlin asked, and picked up a box from a table, to press the large button upon it. 

Above the fireplace, the stone wall divided in two, one half going left and the other right, to reveal a flat screen television much larger than the ones Merlin owned.

“How did it do that?” Arthur stepped to the fireplace mantle, leaning on it to peer into the hidden compartment.

With a whoosh, a roaring fire sprung to life in the fireplace.  Arthur stumbled backwards, nearly falling over a low table behind him. “That’s not funny!” he snapped at Merlin.

Merlin held up his hands, shaking his head.  “I didn’t do it!”

“What do you mean, you didn’t do it?  Fire appeared out of nowhere!  It had to be you!”

“I’m telling you it wasn’t me. You must have done something.”

Arthur approached the fireplace again.  Ran his hand along the mantle.  Found a raised button, and pressed it.

The fire went out.

“That’s not natural,” Merlin said irritably.

Oh, Arthur thought in delight.  Oh, this was going to be _good_. “Would you look at that?” he asked, and pressed the button to make the fire spring back to life. “And I don’t even need to use magic!”

Merlin glared at the fire as he moved warily to the door.

“You see?” Arthur asked gleefully, and pressed the button to make the fire go out.  “And all I need to do is press this thing here!”

“Fire isn’t supposed to behave that way.  It’s not right.”

“No, it’s _brilliant_. And I don’t even need to say those nonsense words of yours.  What is it again that you say?”

“None of your business!” Merlin snapped, as he hauled their suitcases across the room, banging into furniture as he went.

“Burnae fireum!” Arthur said in a mockery of Merlin’s voice, and wiggled his fingers as he re-lit the fire.

“That is not what I say!”

“Fireum go outae!” Arthur called after him through laughter, and pressed the button again. 

“You sound like Harry Potter’s dimwitted cousin!” Merlin shouted over his shoulder.

“Who’s Harry Potter?”

“No one!”

“I can look it up on my mobile, you realise!  I know what Google is!”

Only after Merlin’s swearing had faded into the bedroom did Arthur gain control of his laughter.  In renewed delight, he wandered into the rest of the flat, seeking other things to drive Merlin mental.

A short search revealed dials that caused small fires in the kitchen, a round switch that made the lights fade in and out, and a box on the wall that allowed him to speak to William in the lobby. 

When he returned to the living room, he picked up the box Merlin had found earlier, and started pressing buttons at random.  All over the room, lights turned on and off, the telly wall opened and closed, and then, with the press of another button, the draperies drew apart, revealing a long row of dark windows.

A glass door was set right into the windows, leading apparently to the patio William had mentioned.  After tossing the control box onto a nearby table, Arthur went to the door and pressed his forehead to its glass, hands cupped around his eyes to see. 

In the dim light cast out onto it from the lamps behind him, he saw flagstones on the ground, a handful of garden tables, and several potted plants in urns.

When he yanked open the door, the chilly night breeze caught his hair, tickling his cheeks. After pulling his jacket closed against it, Arthur walked across the dimly lit patio, to the chest high wall at the building’s edge.

There he stopped, and stared. 

The city of London stretched out before him, dark shapes rising and falling like the sea, lights like the glittering of stars.

Arthur clutched the cold metal railing, fighting a sudden wave of vertigo.

Absurd, he told himself.  It made no sense.  Feeling so off balance at this height.  He’d stood much higher than this before, surveying invading armies of men, all of whom wanted nothing more than to slit the throat of the King of Camelot.

But the strangely shadowed landscape played with his mind.  Its dark shapes and blinking lights rose and fell too oddly, following artificial steeps and valleys that overlapped and folded.  He couldn’t tell what was structure and what was ground.  It was chaos, all of it, stretching to the horizon, not one single spot devoid of light or movement or sound.

Arthur drew in a deep breath of chilly night air and focused on the Thames, winding through the bedlam, its dark waters reflecting the city lights. 

“Wow,” came Merlin’s soft voice.

Arthur felt Merlin press to his side, reassuring and warm. He’d changed clothes, and was wearing the white t-shirt and soft trousers he used for sleeping.  Neither proved much protection from the wind, judging by the way he hugged himself against the elements, his shoulders hunched.

“You’ll catch your death,” Arthur said, and put his arm around Merlin’s back to pull him close. 

“Look at it all,” Merlin said, sounding lost. 

“I know,” Arthur said.

“And they did it all without magic.”

“They did it all without me, as well.”

“That’s not true,” Merlin insisted, and when Arthur glanced over, he saw that same fire in Merlin’s eyes as he’d had back in Camelot, whenever his king had doubted himself.

“I have nothing to do with any of this,” Arthur said to the city below.

“None of this would have ever happened if you hadn’t brought peace to Albion.”

“It wasn’t a lasting peace,” Arthur said, watching a small boat drifting down the river.  Or perhaps it was a large boat.  It was difficult to tell from this height. 

“The peace was what mattered. If Morgana’s forces hadn’t been stopped, then dark magic would have spread all through Albion.  Corrupting everything.  And everyone.  On and on through the generations of-“

“Yes, yes, all right.”

Merlin glared at him, wind sending his black hair dancing over his pale cheeks, his jaw set with chin jutting out, clearly ready for an argument. 

“All right,” Arthur said gently, tightening his arm around Merlin’s back.

It took a few moments before Arthur felt Merlin relax, with a soft sigh he’d probably not meant for Arthur to hear.

Arthur let it go, glad for the unspoken truce.  The day had been long, and he didn’t have it in him to argue.  Not with Merlin.  Not in the face of all this. 

“Whose fortress is that?” Arthur asked, pointing at a massive building beside the river, its long rows of golden-lit stone spires reminding him of a battle line of barbarians’ spears. 

“It’s not a fortress,” Merlin said.  “It’s Parliament.  The government building of the people.”

“That’s a place of governance?  Ridiculous.  It looks ready for siege.”

“Considering the city’s past, you can’t actually blame them.”

“A government building,” Arthur repeated in wonder.

Another stretch of silence.  Or at least as silent as it could be here.  Machinery and horns and voices rose and fell constantly upon the breeze, discordant and unfamiliar.

“It’s a bit… much,” Merlin said. 

“I should say it is.  What kind of government is so inept that it needs a fortress?”

“No, I mean… All of it.  London.  It’s a little… intimidating.”

Arthur realised, quite abruptly, that Merlin was right.  That was how he’d been feeling, faced with this strange city.  Intimidated.  Which was _ludicrous_.  He’d seen far stranger things than this metropolis before him.  Fought many more terrifying foes when he was barely able to pick up a sword.

This city, here, was just another challenge to be conquered.  Another mystery to be solved.  It was pointless for either of them to feel intimidated. Gods above, especially not _Merlin_.

“Come now, Merlin,” Arthur said, in his most condescending regal tones. “One oversized village couldn’t possibly be more of a challenge to us than… oh, I don’t know…  Facing an army of ten thousand undead?  Battling skeletons in our own citadel?  Traveling through the Perilous Lands?”

Merlin’s smile was hesitant.  “Fighting off a carnivorous griffin?”

“Or finding the Cup of Life?”

“Or surviving a visit by King Olaf and the Lady Vivian!”

Arthur gave an exaggerated shudder.

Merlin ducked his head, laughing. 

Arthur slid his hand up and down Merlin’s back, wanting to say so much more.  Because the list went on and on.  In Merlin’s case, even more than his own.

Next to him, Merlin yawned loudly and at great length.

“Don’t fall asleep standing at this height,” Arthur said, tightening his grip around Merlin’s shoulders.

“When have I ever fallen asleep standing up?”

“I seem to remember two separate occasions you fell off your horse.”

“That was falling asleep sitting up, not standing up.  And that only happened because you insisted on riding two days straight.”

“A feat that I managed in full armour.”

Merlin tilted his head sideways, resting his temple upon Arthur’s shoulder, mumbling something that was likely an insult, though it was lost in yet another yawn.

“Go inside,” Arthur told him. “Collapse upon that decadent bed.  Wrap yourself in those overstuffed white blankets fit for a princess.  I’ll be there shortly.”

“I’m not done with our unpacking.”

“You’re done for tonight.  Now go.” Arthur nudged him back to the flat, and for a wonder, Merlin didn’t protest, padding barefoot back to the door, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

By the time Arthur ventured inside, he was chilled to the bone.  The flat was warm, though, courtesy of the modern magic of climate control, and for once, Arthur was thankful not to face a damp castle room.  He dropped his jacket on the hallway floor as he walked to the bedroom, eager to climb beneath the soft blankets with Merlin, and finally act on the filthy thoughts he’d been having all day.

Merlin, he discovered, lay sprawled out on his stomach atop the blankets. He was snoring, his face squashed into the bedding, one leg hanging half off the mattress.

“Well,” Arthur whispered, smiling despite himself. “So much for my plans.” 

He reached out, fingertips drifting over a stretch of leg, wishing he could do much more, but without the heart to wake his sleeping sorcerer.

It was a decision he came to regret, because dealing with the washroom was an exercise in frustration.  One of the toilets didn’t function like a toilet at all.   And the tub was bizarre, with its many tiny holes shooting air at him when he pressed a button he thought was for the water.  In the end, he wound up washing and shaving with a cloth standing at the sinks, making so much of a mess on the floor that he nearly slipped over twice.

He returned to the bedroom aggravated, only to have to spend several more irritating minutes trying to find the damn lamp switch.  When he finally managed to switch it off, he crawled into the bed muttering to himself, pulling awkwardly at the blankets trapped beneath Merlin’s weight.  

“Come on, move,” he muttered, and tugged at the sheets.

Merlin grunted but didn’t stir.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

“Bandits!” Merlin burst out, flailing as he sat up.

“There’s no bandits!” Arthur said, catching Merlin’s arm.

Merlin blinked at him, bleary eyed. “No bandits?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.  Now get up and lie down.”

“Get up and lie down?”

Arthur heaved a loud sigh, his irritation already melting into fondness, faced with Merlin’s childlike confusion and dark nest of mussed hair, the way the city lights beyond the window shone lovely upon his sharp cheeks, and the pout of his-

“The hell is _wrong_ with me,” Arthur muttered, and shoved Merlin’s arm to his side. “Come on then, you overgrown child.”

“Notta child,” Merlin mumbled, climbing with Arthur under the blankets, waiting until Arthur lay on his back, head propped on the pillows, before collapsing with a sigh at Arthur’s side.

“Careful,” Arthur scolded, as Merlin huffed and squirmed and generally made a pain of himself as he fought to get comfortable.  After a final grunt of complaint, Merlin rested his stubbled cheek upon Arthur’s bare shoulder, leaning heavily along his side, only going still once he’d rested his warm palm atop Arthur’s chest. 

Right over my heart, Arthur thought.  A new habit of Merlin’s.  Feeling for proof of Arthur’s life.  One that had Arthur bringing his arms around Merlin’s shoulders.  Pressing a kiss atop his head.

Beyond the tall windows, London stretched out to the horizon, its lights sparkling into the distance, its citizens going about their night, completely oblivious of them both.

Arthur slid his fingers over Merlin’s shoulders.  Tracing the curve of lean muscle.  The hard shape of bone.

Odd, how natural it felt.  Having Merlin in his bed.  And yet it wasn’t odd at all, not really, when he looked back at all they shared.  If anything, it felt odd that they hadn’t done this sooner.  Because very obviously they’d been meant to fit together like this, even from the start.

Arthur pressed his nose into Merlin’s hair, inhaling the sweet scents of the vanilla soaps Merlin made himself, and the deep earthy musk that clung him as well, whether by magic or by nature Arthur didn’t know. 

“Promise me,” Merlin whispered, apparently not as asleep as Arthur had thought.

“Hmm?”

Merlin slid his palm down Arthur’s bare chest, until it covered the scar from Mordred’s blade.  “Promise me I’m not dreaming?”

Arthur closed his eyes, fighting the desire to press Merlin to the bed, whispering words of devotion against his lips, claiming him with such care and passion that all worries of hallucinations were banished forever.

But he could feel Merlin start to tremble. His breaths growing shallow and fast.  Both signs that he was beginning to fall into panic, just as he had done after Arthur’s return, when his fears of madness grew too strong for him to bear.

Arthur flicked Merlin’s ear, hard.

“Ow!” Merlin slapped Arthur’s stomach. “That hurt!”

“Of course it did.  And do you know why?”

“Because you’re an arse?”

“That’s not the reason.”

“You are an arse though.”

“It hurt,” Arthur said gently, “because you’re not dreaming.”

Merlin didn’t reply, but Arthur noticed his breathing grow deeper, the rise and fall of his shoulders slower.  “Not dreaming,” he whispered, a breath of warmth against Arthur’s chest.

“Not dreaming,” Arthur whispered back, and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s mess of hair.

For a long while, Arthur stared out at the lights of London, feeling the small twitches of Merlin’s body, as he slid into sleep.

Only a few more days, Arthur told himself.  Just a few more, and they’d be heading for Italy, for their new beginning and new life together.

Merlin had dreamed of going there for so long.  It would be the perfect place for them to begin their lives together.  Away from history, and destiny, and all they had lost.

We’ll have a picnic, Arthur decided.  They’d set up a blanket overlooking the countryside. All of Merlin’s favourite foods packed into a basket. Even give him some of those ridiculous flowers he denies loving so much.

Yes, that would be the perfect way to ask him that question.

“Purple,” Merlin slurred into his shoulder.  “Mouse won’t say.”

“Go to sleep,” Arthur whispered through his laughter, then settled in to do the same, wondering at the brilliant absurdity that was his life, all thoughts of the world beyond their refuge forgotten.


	2. the millenium wheel

Arthur startled awake, to Camelot’s bells ringing the alarm.

He shoved his blankets away and sat up, shielding his eyes against daylight, wondering where in the hell was Leon, he should be bringing the news by now-

The bell rang again, low and distant.  Arthur blinked and squinted into the light. Beyond the row of windows, above the winding river, the clock tower sat amid stone spires rising high above the modern sprawl.

For a long moment, he stared at the city.  Then he bent forward, hands pressed to the bed, eyes squeezed shut. 

Just breathing.

He hadn’t even begun to recover when he heard another, smaller chime.  This one was soft, two notes repeating, from somewhere beyond the bedroom.

He left Merlin sleeping beneath mounds of white blankets, stumbling barefoot and shirtless into the living room.  When the chime repeated, he realised it was coming from a small box beside the door concealing their lift. 

“The hell is that?” he mumbled, and yanked open the door, startling a young man in hotel uniform within the lift.

“Your breakfast, my lord!” the man burst out, gesturing to the rolling metal cart beside him, nearly knocking over the tall vase of roses amid the covered plates.  “Apologies for waking you- I mean my lord-  but the hotel-“

“Yes, yes, all right. ” Arthur gestured for the flustered young man to push his cart inside.  Delicious smells swept in behind him, drawing Arthur to follow into the dining room.  “Who sent this?”

“Meals are one of the many services the hotel is honoured to provide my lords,” the young man said, as he set out plate after plate of sausages and eggs, breads and scones, puddings and berries.

Arthur watched three pitchers of different coloured juices join the feast, followed by a carafe of coffee and a kettle of tea.  “Meal service for how many exactly?”

“In the absence of instructions, our restaurant has provided my lords with selections from everything on the breakfast menu.” 

“Everything… on the…” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, dazed by the quantity of food spread before him.  “And what other services might we be expecting?”

“Cleaning and laundry, of course, as well as bed turndown, car transport, administrative assistance, and any required PA services.”

“PA services,” Arthur repeated.  “Of course. Yes.”

The young man added a vase of red roses to the table, then stepped back with hands clasped behind him. “Is there anything more my lord requires?”

Memories swept in on the wake of the familiar question—of his castle, his servants, his throne.  All gone now, all gone-

Arthur closed his eyes, gripping the chair back, wood creaking under his fingers.

“My lord?”

Arthur began to dismiss him, then noticed a wide silver tray upon the man’s cart.  “Actually,” he said, “there is one more thing you can do…”

After the young man had assisted him, and been dismissed for the day, Arthur elbowed his way back into the bedroom, the silver tray laden with breakfast plates in his hands. After setting it at the foot of the bed, he adjusted the few roses in their small glass of water, then climbed back upon the bed. 

Merlin still lay sleeping beneath lumps of white covers, his head hidden beneath an enormous pillow.  Arthur stretched out at his side, leaning against the shape of him, marvelling once again at how they just _fit_.

The room was silent and still.  Though the city lay beyond the windows, he couldn’t hear it. Nothing disturbed the peace of this place.  Not even the distant clock tower’s chiming, which had long since faded into silence.

This, here, was something he’d never had in Camelot.  These peaceful mornings, with no schedule laid out before him.  This long stretch of day, stretched out ahead. 

No council sessions.  No assassins trying to kill him.  No sending young men to die in battle.  Just a normal day, like a normal man.  Doing whatever he wanted.  With whomever he wanted.

Arthur closed his eyes.  Let himself luxuriate in the thought:  I can do whatever I want.

It unsettled him, with its newness. Though he was certain he’d adjust.  He’d adapted to far worse things since his return.  And far better, as well.

The thought had him smiling down at Merlin, as he nudged the pillow from his head, and pulled the blankets away.  Heat poured from Merlin’s broad shoulders, beneath his rumpled white t-shirt.  Arthur lay his hand between the sharp shoulder blades on offer, warmth radiating through the fabric to his fingertips, as he eased his hand upward, over the enticing landscape of muscle and bone.

I used to wake him with a bucket of water, Arthur reminded himself.  Often from the horse trough.  And on one memorable occasion, from a nearby pond.  He still remembered how the fish had flailed about in Merlin’s lap, as he’d sat there drenched and glaring.

Merlin shifted beneath the covers, his head turning upon the pillow to expose a pink cheek, and lips parting with a sigh. 

So many years I’ve known him, Arthur thought.  Yet somehow he’d missed how strangely beautiful Merlin was.  Not like a woman could be beautiful.  Nor a man handsome.  But in his own way, utterly unique.  Which only stood to reason, in the end.

Arthur slid his fingers into the mess of Merlin’s hair, the strands soft and thick upon his skin.  No bucket of water today, he thought.  Nor probably for many days to come.  Not with Merlin stretched out so tempting upon the bed.

“Feels nice,” Merlin mumbled into the pillow.

“It’s meant to wake you up.”

“Don’t want to wake up.  Having a good dream.”

Arthur felt laughter bubbling up within him, pulling his lips into a besotted smile.  “Come on now.  Up and at ‘em.  Rise and shine.  Let’s have you, crazy daisy-“

“’Lazy daisy’,” Merlin said, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes, because that makes ever so much more sense.”  He patted Merlin’s back and sat up. “I mean it though.  Get up.” 

Merlin rolled over, rubbing at his face. “Time issit?”

“According to the unnecessarily loud clock tower, it’s nearly lunch. I’ve been up for hours, I’ll have you know.  Waiting for your lazy arse to get out of bed.”

Merlin squinted at him.  “That’s not true.  You’ve got bed hair.”

“I do not.” Arthur ran an indignant hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers caught on a tangle. “And if I do, it’s your fault, because I was preoccupied preparing your breakfast.” 

“Preparing my- what?”

Arthur gestured proudly to the tray.

Merlin stared at it as if it were a potentially dangerous creature.

“It’s delicious.”  Arthur crawled down the bed and sat cross legged beside the tray.  “I sampled it myself before I brought it in.”

Merlin shoved himself up to his elbows, blinking into the daylight, pale and dazed, as if expecting a joke to be sprung upon him.

Arthur bit into a pastry, then chewed with exaggerated delight.  “Mmmmm… Freshly baked croissants… Dipped in chocolate sauce.”

Merlin threw the blankets aside and crawled quickly down the bed, grabbing the remaining croissant from Arthur’s hand.  After shoving it into his mouth, he went very still, his eyes going wide as he moaned out his pleasure.

Arthur paused with a scone at his lips, the sound calling to mind memories unrelated to food.

“Where did you say you got this?” Merlin asked around his mouthful, shifting to sit cross legged so he could reach everything on offer.

“I already told you.  I prepared it.”

“That’s what you told me, yes.  But where did it really come from?”

Arthur pressed an offended hand to his chest.  “Are you suggesting I’m incapable of preparing breakfast?”

“Bread and juice, yes. But this?”  He snorted and shoved the rest of the croissant into his mouth. 

“All right, fine.  One of the hotel servants-“

“Employees-”

“-brought it up from the restaurant downstairs.  But it was my idea to prepare the tray so you could eat breakfast in bed.  And I’m the one who served it to you.  Not that I’ve heard a single word of thanks.”

Merlin didn’t answer.  He was too busy preoccupied staring down at his tray.  Or, more specifically, at the red roses upon it.

Arthur grabbed a fork and jabbed at his eggs, cheeks hot, his embarrassment overwhelming his irritation.  Good lord, what had he been thinking?  Treating Merlin like he was some girl.  Giving him breakfast and flowers in bed.  Ridiculous.  Just utterly ridiculous-

“Thank you,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur glanced over, and found Merlin watching him.  Daylight glowed upon his pale face and bare arms, a stark contrast to his black hair, his blue eyes.   Sitting there, with the London skyline behind him, Merlin looked very much out of place.  An echo of their old world, there among the new.  The embodiment of all its magic.  Of all its power.  Ageless and immortal.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“Try the eggs,” Arthur told him, instead of saying any of those other things.  They, too, belonged to the past.  Not part of their new life, or of the world around them.

Merlin took an enormous bite of croissant, leaving the question unanswered.

Arthur let the matter drop, and relaxed into comfortable silence.  For a while, he stared out of the windows, first at the jumble of buildings, and then at the sky, where grey clouds warred with patches of blue. 

Merlin cleared his throat. “So.  This is, um...”

“Is something wrong with the food?” Arthur asked, because Merlin’s plate wasn’t even half empty.

“No, the food’s delicious.”

“Then what?”

“It’s just…  This.  You and I.  Having breakfast together.  In bed.”

“What about it?”

Merlin glanced over, his expression guarded in a way Arthur hadn’t seen since his first days in the modern world, when secrets had filled the space between them.  “Never mind.  It’s nothing.  I’m not making any sense.  Better have some coffee, huh?”

“Merlin-“

“The city is really beautiful from up here, isn’t it,” Merlin said, looking with singular focus out the window.  “You can even see the time on the clock tower.  They figured out the whole global time thing here you know.  In Greenwich.  They have a museum about it. With a massive telescope.”

Arthur nearly asked about the telescope, but caught himself just in time, wondering when in the hell he was going to stop falling for Merlin’s distractions.

“There’s a planetarium there too,” Merlin went on.  “We could go there today.  Or maybe tomorrow.  Whenever you’d like.  Or we could-  What are you doing?“

Arthur pulled Merlin forward by a handful of shirt. “I’m getting you to shut up.”

Merlin grunted a token protest as Arthur kissed him, but leaned into it eagerly enough, clacking the dishes together on the tray as their knees pressed against it.

“Every morning,” Arthur said, when they parted enough to speak.

“Hmm?”

“Every morning this.  You and I.  Having breakfast together.  In bed.”

Merlin opened his eyes, looking curiously at Arthur. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Okay,” Merlin said, so incredulous that Arthur kissed him again, slow and thorough, until he felt Merlin relax once again.

“If that’s what you want,” Arthur added, after a while.

“It is.”

“Good.”

“Mmm,” Merlin agreed, and kissed him with lips parting and tongue licking in, bearing the taste of chocolate and strawberries.  

Arthur shuddered at the sensuous invasion, then again at Merlin’s fingertips dragging up and down his bare chest as he savored the taste of his king.

When Merlin leaned away, he was panting hot and fast against Arthur’s lips.  “Are you finished?” he asked, in a voice gone rough.  “With breakfast, I mean?”

“Yes, are you?“

“Yes, I-”

“Oh thank the gods,” Arthur moaned, and hauled Merlin forward by the shirt.

Merlin fell onto him, shoving the tray out of the way with a clatter of dishes to the floor, pulling at his own clothes as he went.

Arthur grabbed a flailing elbow.  “Will you let me-“

“I can do it-“

Arthur spat out a mouthful of fabric as Merlin yanked off his shirt, nearly taking his nose off in the process. “Move away to do that.”

Merlin licked at Arthur’s neck, wet and filthy. “Don’t want to,” he mumbled, and shoved his arms beneath Arthur’s back, his cold feet wiggling under Arthur’s calves, ankles locking beneath them.

It felt so much like a poorly executed wrestling manoeuvre that Arthur laughed, wondering once again if all their scuffles long ago hadn’t really been just this in disguise.

“Shut up,” Merlin mumbled, and rocked his hips against Arthur’s.

Arthur’s laugh slid into a groan, passion washing aside humour like a wave on a shore. He grabbed hard onto Merlin’s waist, straining up into the friction. “You shut up.”

“Prat,” Merlin moaned, and thrust his hips forward again.

“Clot pole,” Arthur choked out, arching beneath him.

“That’s my word.  Arse.”

Though he sounded like he was pouting, the curve of Merlin’s lips made their teeth clack together as they kissed.  Arthur laughed again, soft and amazed, too astonished that sex could be like this; full of mockery and desire, insults and love. 

“Stupid clothes,” Merlin burst out, and all at once flung himself off of Arthur, sprawling on his back, wriggling out of his sleeping trousers and pants.

Arthur pushed himself up to his elbows to enjoy the spectacle. “Will you slow down?”

“It’s been two days.”  Merlin threw his clothes across the room, then got to his knees at Arthur’s side.

Merlin was pale and beautiful in the daylight, gloriously naked and impressively hard, the thick length of him twitching under Arthur’s wide eyed adoration.

“Like what you see?” Merlin asked, his voice gone low and sex-soaked.

Oh _yes_ , Arthur thought, his mouth actually watering at the sight, his rush of desire shockingly strong.

He hadn’t done that yet.  Fit the length of him into his mouth.  He hadn’t with anyone, ever before.  He’d never wanted to.  But _oh_ how he wanted to now.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and wrapped an arm around Merlin’s backside.

Merlin startled, gaze shifting from Arthur’s face to his own cock and back again. “You’re still dressed!” he burst out suddenly, tugging at Arthur’s pants and trousers, then throwing them onto the floor.

When he’d finished Arthur reached out again, still craving, still wanting-

But then Merlin shifted to press his hands to Arthur’s hips, pushing him down to the mattress.  “Just lay back,” he said, then bent forward.

“But I- oh _hell_ -” Arthur moaned, as Merlin’s mouth closed around his cock, tight and wet with head already bobbing.  “I was, but- _Oh_ \- that, _yes_ , just like that, _Merlin_ …”

A rather embarrassingly short time after that, Arthur lay sprawled on his back, reeling from an orgasm so intense that he’d twice kicked Merlin in the shin during it. 

He was vaguely aware of the bed moving, rhythmic and rough, and of Merlin’s sharp cheek pressing hard against his hip.  Before he could lift a hand to help, he heard a choked off moan, felt the bed shaking as Merlin’s head pressed hard into his hip, then felt Merlin collapse heavily onto his leg with a relieved groan.

Arthur stared at the ceiling, utterly bewildered by what had just happened, and how it had happened so fast.  It hadn’t even taken five minutes.  “Did you just…?”

Merlin nodded, his cheek dragging across the bare skin of Arthur’s hip.  “Mm hmm.”

“I was going to help.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Merlin said, relaxing against his leg.

Arthur glanced down the length of his body.  “Do you not…?”

Merlin lifted his head, sharp cheekbones flushed red, hair a mess, blue eyes curious.

“Is that not something you…?  Because I had intended…” Arthur glanced down in the vicinity of Merlin’s hips, desperately hoping his meaning was clear, because talking about it had him flushing like a maiden.

Merlin’s smile changed.  It was subtle, but Arthur noticed.  The realization must have shown in his face, because Merlin rested his cheek upon Arthur’s hip, mumbling something that could have been ‘next time’.

Arthur let it go, allowing himself to relax in the bed in the really rather remarkably quiet room, given the city crowding around them. “Come up here,” he said, and nudged Merlin with his knee.

“Too tired,” Merlin mumbled against his hipbone. “Need to rest.”

“Rest?”

“For round two.”

Arthur lifted his head, staring wide eyed down at the shock of mussed black hair and elegant arch of Merlin’s back.  “Round two?”

“Mm. That was too fast.”

“Your fault,” Arthur sighed, and dropped his head back to the mattress.

A low chuckle, and the feeling of Merlin’s hand sliding up and down the inside of his thigh, followed by a tender kiss placed to his hip.  “Yes.  It was.”

“It had been two days.”

“Two very long days.”

“We’ll take it slower next time.”

“Whatever you say, sire,” Merlin said, and gave his thigh a reassuring pat.

Arthur turned his head on the mattress, to see the sprawling city beyond the tall windows. “Don’t you want to see London?”

“I waited this long,” Merlin sighed out, sounding unbothered.  He slid his leg over Arthur’s shin; his arm around his thigh. “I can wait a little longer.”

Arthur stared down at a Merlin’s mess of black hair, amazed that Merlin would want these moments with him, more than something he’d yearned for so long. 

“S’ okay?” Merlin asked, his words already slurring.

“Yes, very much so,” Arthur said, and he closed his eyes on the city, as its most amazing inhabitant cuddled his leg.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was well past noon by the time they left the hotel. They used one of the lobby’s many hidden side exits to do so, emerging onto the pavement along the Thames. 

The breeze was damp and chilly, bringing none of the fresh smells Arthur would expect near such a wide river.  The clouds above suggested rain, yet the city air was thick and acrid, heavy with unfamiliar smells.

“Oi, watch it!” came a man’s voice.

Arthur startled back a step, to allow a man pushing a pram walk by, his two children trotting happily after him.

“Come on,” Merlin urged, stepping through the stream of people walking along the pavement, towards the low stone wall along the river’s edge.

Arthur followed him through crowds of people from countless countries.  They spoke the language of the day, though and dressed just as he had, in t-shirt and jacket, jeans and trainers.

Not so dissimilar from Londinium, he thought.  Even after its fall, this settlement had always been a well travelled port.  Or so his tutors had told him.

He bumped into people twice as he approached the wall, where Merlin already stood, pulling his jacket closed against the breeze, his gaze upon the opposite shore.

“The sheer scale of it all,” Arthur said, as he studied the distant stone buildings.  He wondered how old they were, these elaborate structures each befitting a king. People had lived by this river since before his time, after all. Ruler after ruler had claimed sovereignty.  And ruler after ruler had fallen.

“It really is big, isn’t it,” Merlin said.

Arthur glanced over, noting Merlin’s stiff posture, the way his arms hugged his chest, his gaze wary upon the river.

Merlin had lived through all of it, Arthur thought.  He’d watched the city’s rise and fall through his crystals.  Within it and yet apart.  Ancient and undying.  Civilizations rising and falling all around him.

Merlin glanced over, about to speak, but hesitated at what he saw in Arthur’s expression.

“So,” Arthur said quickly, and clapped a hand upon Merlin’s shoulder. “Here we are, then.  Londinium.”

“It’s called London,” Merlin said, his tone suggesting he’d mentioned this a hundred times before, when Arthur hadn’t been paying attention.

“Yes, I know it’s called London now,” Arthur informed him.  “But we used to call it by the Roman name.  Londinium.”

“We did?”

“Of course, don’t you…”  Arthur let the words trail away.  Because perhaps Merlin didn’t remember. He’d lived hundreds of lives in his absence.  Perhaps such things had been lost long ago.

Merlin was narrowing his eyes at him, a familiar concern reflected there.  “Don’t I what?”

“Don’t you want to go look at that gaudy metal monstrosity?” Arthur asked, and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder.  “You went on about it for at least five hours of our drive here.”

“It was not five hours,” Merlin scolded, though the change in subject had him looking up the metal wheel that loomed over them down the pavement.  “I wonder why they call it an eye.  It doesn’t really look very much like one, does it.”

No, Arthur thought.  It doesn’t.  It looks like the skeleton of a dead magical creature, defying all laws of nature with its existence, ready to topple over and crush us to death at any moment.

 “The view should be amazing from up there,” Merlin said.  “It’s been ages since I’ve been up that high.”

Arthur frowned up at the wheel’s transparent pods, and wondered what sort of madman had come up with the idea of using glass as the safest option for them.

“They say you can see forty kilometers from the very top!” Merlin went on.

“Wonderful,” Arthur muttered.

“What’s that?”

At Merlin’s bright eyed excitement, Arthur forced a smile. “I said, wonderful!”

Merlin’s delighted grin was entirely worth the deception.

The short walk down the crowded pavement was more difficult than Arthur expected. Twice he was roughly bumped into, and several times he knocked against someone distracted by their mobile.

“Doesn’t anyone watch where they’re going?” Arthur asked.  “I’ve had four people nearly knock me over in the past two minutes.”

Merlin glanced at him, brows pinching together.  “You do remember they won’t make way for you, right?”

Arthur sidestepped a young couple holding hands, fighting to keep his irritation at himself, because no, he hadn’t. “Yes, well, perhaps I’d remember it better if you stopped trailing after me like a servant.”

Merlin sped his pace to walk at Arthur’s side. “Sorry.  Old habits.”

Arthur felt another man bump into his shoulder, and swore under his breath.  Old habits indeed, he thought.

When they reached the open square below the London Eye, Arthur found himself reminded of Festival Days on the fields outside the castle walls.  Musicians strolled among wandering tourists on the winding pavements, vendors sold food and trinkets from stands set beneath the scattered trees, and amid the voices and distant cars, Arthur could hear another voice describing the nearby attraction.

Merlin stopped in the middle of it all, glaring at the long queue stretching from the building at the wheel’s base.  “I don’t remember seeing this on the website.” 

Arthur felt his neck twinge as he stared up at the cylindrical glass pods suspended amid the white metal and its massive machinery. “This is a popular destination, I take it?”

“Apparently.  Maybe we should come back later?”

“And spend the entire day listening to you whining about us not having done it?  Absolutely not.”

“I do not whine-”

“You’re whining _now_.  Now come on.”

Merlin grumbled all the way to the end of the queue, as surly as Arthur ever remembered him on their hunting trips. It started out low and to himself, but got louder and more irritated when they took up position behind a boisterous group of young men, all wearing identical green ‘City of London School’ t-shirts.  They very clearly were all friends, judging by how they were roughhousing, and laughingly taking the piss out of one another.

When Arthur dodged an arm flung out by one of the young men, Merlin shifted to stand like a castle guard between him and them, scowling at the offense.

“Stop being such an old fishwife,” Arthur told him.  “They’re just being boys.”

“Yes, rude boys.”

“As if you and I didn’t act exactly the same.”

“We most certainly did not.”

Arthur just stared at him.

“Anyway, that was different,” Merlin said, and glared over his shoulder.

As the queue moved slowly forward, five young men jogged over to the group of boys ahead. They were received with good natured name calling and laughter, as well as a number of shoves, reminding Arthur of red capes and warm campfires, long, long ago.

“Oi!” Merlin snapped at them. “No jumping the queue!”

“Sod off, big ears,” one of the boys said over his shoulder, to the laughter of his friends.

Before Arthur could intervene, he felt a strange tugging at his jeans.  A toddler was stood beside him, smiling up at him with a cheerful face full of chocolate. His hands were covered in the substance, including the one holding onto Arthur’s trouser leg. 

“Jason! Good lord! Let that man go!” The child’s mother swept the child up into her arms, casting a harried glance over at Arthur.  “I’m so _sorry_ ,” she said in a rush, then turned immediately to her companion, snapping that _this_ was the reason why she’d wanted to get advanced tickets.

“ _Advanced_ tickets?” Arthur asked Merlin.

“It really didn’t look like this on the website,” Merlin grumbled.

Arthur rubbed at his face, fingers squeezing his temples, fighting the headache starting there.  Nearby shouts had him stiffening, nerves already frayed beyond control, his hand reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. 

Relax, he told himself, drawing in a deep breath to try and do so. But with unfamiliar people pressing in at all sides, amid discordant voices and sounds, the world unfamiliar and over bright, he couldn’t help but be on his guard.  Too many years of battle training.  Useless here, without a battle.

“If you want to go, I’ll understand,” Merlin said.

Arthur opened his eyes and gazed out upon the milling crowd in the square. “Ready to give up already?  And you say I’m the impatient one.”

“This isn’t about patience, it’s about- Oi!” Merlin shoved at the young man who had stumbled into him.  “Watch it!”

The young man turned around, two of his friends doing the same.  “The hell is your problem?”

“Your lack of manners,” Merlin bit out, sounding every year the old man he was.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur watched the group of youths burst out laughing, utterly unbothered.  “Merlin-“

“Merlin?” one of the group repeated.

“You King Arthur then?” another laughed at Arthur this time.

“Blond toff like that?” the first asked.  “He don’t look like much of a king to me.”

“Is that so?” Merlin asked, low and dangerous and with a voice like lightning from the mountaintops. ”Well then maybe you should _look again_.”

The air turned liquid and electric, sparks dancing upon Arthur’s bare arms as it moved over his skin, traveling through the square as thunder rolled overhead.

When it rumbled into silence, only the low grinding of the wheel filled the square.

In the unnatural silence, Arthur watched every man, every woman, every child, all turning in place, to stare directly at him.

The young men in their green shirts did as well, all of them gone still in wide-eyed wonder.

“My king,” one choked out, and dropped hard to his knee. 

Arthur watched the rest of the crowd go to their knees, one after the other.  Not even in Camelot had he witnessed such a display of awe or deference.

 “What,” Arthur asked Merlin slowly, “did you just do to these people?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Merlin said, more to the kneeling crowd than to him. 

“What wasn’t on purpose? Merlin, _what_ did you _do_?”

Merlin looked at him, worry pinching his brow, even as defiance shone in his eyes. “I swear I just-  I only wanted them to see-”

“See _what_?”

“Who you really are!”

As Merlin’s voice rang across the square, Arthur heard the sound of weeping.  It was coming from an old man kneeling nearby, expression contorted with blissful devotion.  Others nearby were much the same, adoring or overwhelmed or weeping, more even than the subjects of Camelot had ever done.

The sight shouldn’t have choked him with emotion.  Shouldn’t have moved him beyond all words.  He shouldn’t enjoy it, shouldn’t _want_ it, but it had just been so long-

“I’m sorry, sire,” came Merlin’s soft voice.

Arthur glanced over to se Merlin standing with shoulders rounded and head ducked.  Looking far more like the hapless servant he wasn’t, instead of the powerful sorcerer he was. 

“Come with me,” Arthur said roughly, and pulled Merlin through the crowd.

“What-?”

Arthur nodded at the people who hurried out of their path, their heads bowing to him as they passed.  “When we’re on board,” he said to Merlin, “you will _immediately_ undo what you have done.”

“On board?”

“On that metal monstrosity, in one of those glass rooms.”

“Wait, do you-  Are we jumping the queue?”

“That’s what you’d wanted, isn’t it?”

“No- I mean yes-  But-“

“Move your feet, then.”

He released Merlin only after they’d reached the platform where they could gain entrance.  Arthur stepped alone into one of the emptied capsules slowly gliding by, aware of Merlin pausing in the doorway, turning to face the staring crowd.

After a few words that echoed with ancient power, Merlin stepped into the room, the glass door sliding shut in front of him, just the two of them left within. 

As a recorded voice spoke from the ceiling to welcome them to the London Eye, Arthur moved around the room, pressing his palms to the glass walls to test their strength, poking computer screens describing the city, then gazing up at the massive machinery as they were lifted slowly into the air.  The change in elevation was so gradual that Arthur found himself utterly unbothered by their growing height.  He wondered how long it would take to reach the top. 

When he’d finished his tour round the room, Arthur joined Merlin by the window. Merlin’s hands were clenched together behind his back, stiff and straight, his expression as closed off as ever Arthur had seen it those last months before Camlann.

The urge to comfort him was strong.  Arthur resisted, shifting instead into the demeanour and tone he’d used with his knights.  “I want you to listen to me carefully.  Are you listening, Merlin?”

“Yes, sire.”

“You are never again to do anything like that to our people.  Not without your king’s permission.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sire.”

For a few minutes, they stood and watched the city grow more distant below them, listening to the hum of machinery, the breath of the wind on the glass.

“I do thank you,” Arthur said. “For what you were trying to do for me.”

“I really didn’t mean to-“

“I know.”

“I only wanted those ruffians to-“

“They weren’t ruffians, they were boys, and in any case that’s a poor excuse for letting your temper overcome your common sense.  You know very well what magic is capable of doing.”

Silence answered this reprimand.  It went on for far too long.

“It’s pointless,” Arthur said to the city.  “People shouldn’t be expected to treat me as the man I was.  I’m not that man anymore.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not, and you need to get used to that.  Hell, _I_ need to get used to that, which I cannot do if you have people kneeling to me at every turn.”

“I didn’t make them kneel.  The kneeling was their idea.  When they saw who you truly are.”

Arthur fought back a swell of pride.  It was best not to dwell on such things.  Not if he wanted to be getting on with living his new life.  “This is the twenty first century.  No one should be kneeling to me anymore.”

“Well they shouldn’t be acting like ignorant arse hats to you either!”

Arthur choked out a laugh.  “Arse hats?”

“It’s a thing people say.”

“If by ‘people’ you mean sentimental idiots like you, then I believe you.”

“Arse hat,” Merlin muttered.

“Sentimental idiot,” Arthur said, and nudged his shoulder.

Merlin nudged back, but then stayed pressed close, his arms unfolding so he could brush his knuckles against Arthur’s, where their hands hung between them.

“Come on then,” Arthur said.  “Tell me about what I’m seeing below us.  I know you’re dying to torture me with a thousand unimportant facts about this city.”

“Well since you asked so nicely,” Merlin said sarcastically, but then went ahead and did as Arthur had asked, pointing out buildings and citing moments in history, as they rose slowly into the sky.

When their cabin reached the zenith of its circular journey, Merlin fell silent, standing silently at Arthur’s side, staring just as Arthur was at the thousand grand stone and steel structures, the Thames winding through it all.

Look at it, Arthur thought.  Gods above, the city really did have no end. Buildings and churches and traffic, trees and parks scattered among it all, people moving on the pavements like insects.

“Your kingdom, sire,” Merlin said, his words echoing with power, as if by speaking them he were gifting the city to his king.

“Not my kingdom.” Arthur looked over, into Merlin’s devoted gaze. “ _Our_ kingdom.”

“I don’t want the kingdom,” Merlin said simply.  “I only want its king.”

Arthur stared at the beatific smile upon Merlin’s face, at the sun shining upon skin so pale it seemed to glow as if from the magic he held within.

Arthur touched careful fingertips to Merlin’s cheek, and very slowly leaned in, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s startled lips.

It took a moment for Merlin to sigh and lean into it, Arthur pulling him fully into an embrace, head tilting to allow the wet slide of his lips.

Beneath them the city of London stretched to the horizon, dazzling and vast. Arthur ignored it all in favour of the man in his arms, hands clutching at the back of Merlin’s brown jacket, so lovingly preserved so that Arthur might know it, and feel safe.

Merlin kissed with a worrying desperation, as if he were sure that Arthur would change his mind any moment, even after all that had passed between them. 

Ridiculous man, Arthur thought, dizzy from the easy intimacy between them, pained with the thought that Merlin would doubt it. 

Again the words bubbled up within him, promises of forever wanting to spill from his lips.

_Marry me, marry me, marry me-_

Merlin drew away, breathless and smiling and coy. “Arthur…”

Arthur leaned in to steal another kiss from Merlin’s shining wet lips. “Hmm?”

“They have cameras in these things, you know.”

“Let them watch,” Arthur said, and leaned in again.

Merlin pressed a hand to his chest. “Let them arrest us for public indecency, you mean.”

Arthur grumbled a response but rested his forehead against Merlin’s own, knowing he was right, because he could feel the fire burning within him, urging to press Merlin’s body against the cool glass, right here for all the city to see.

He satisfied himself instead with wrapping his arms around Merlin’s back, pulling him even closer, dragging his lips against the skin of Merlin’s neck.  As they stood close, Arthur felt a metal shape pressing into his hip from Merlin’s pocket, round and familiar.   “So you’re still carrying it, then?” Arthur asked.

Merlin went very still. 

Arthur nosed at a ridiculous ear.  “I’m glad.”

“Yeah?”

“Best way to keep it safe is to carry it with you,” Arthur told him, smiling through the lie.

“Yeah.  That’s what I thought.”

Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin’s neck, wondering if Merlin would still carry his mother’s sigil after he’d given Merlin a ring.  Perhaps he would.  Devoted fool that he was, he would probably carry both.

“Hey, let’s take a selfie,” Merlin said.

“A what?”

“A picture.  Of us.  With the city in the background.”

“A selfie,” Arthur said, and screwed up his nose at the sheer nonsense of the word.

“You promised, remember?” Merlin asked, drawing away and fumbling his mobile from his pocket.  “A photo in every city-“

“Yes, yes, I recall.”  Arthur moved to Merlin’s side and watched him poke at the screen.  “Don’t press that picture, press the other one, over there-“

“I know which icon it is.” Merlin lifted his mobile into the air, and tried to get both of their faces to display.  “Have I mentioned lately how much I miss my old mobile?”

“At least twenty-five times today.”

“That’s because I actually knew how to use that one.”

“Its processor was woefully out of date,” Arthur recited, thankful once again that his friends in Avalon had so patiently explained things to him. He did love those moments when he knew more about the modern world than Merlin.  Infrequent though they were.

“As if you know what a processor is,” Merlin said.

“And you do?”

Merlin gave him a sidelong look, and fumbled with his mobile.

“It’s that button there, Merlin, the one that-“

“I know, I know.  Will you just…?  What the hell are all these extra things anyway?  I don’t need to- Hey- Why don’t I see us on the screen anymore?”

Arthur poked at the screen and restored the image. “Now press that circle there-“

“I was going to do that-“

“Gods’ sakes, just give it here-“

“I can do it!” Merlin insisted, and pressed his thumb to the screen.

When they looked at the photo afterward, Merlin groaned and rolled his eyes. Because Arthur looked delighted and smug.  And Merlin looked ready to throttle him.

When Arthur was done laughing, Merlin took several more photos, until he captured a likeness that satisfied him enough to have him smiling down at it.

“There’s you,” Merlin said happily, “and there’s me.  In a digital photograph.  Together.”

Arthur pressed himself to Merlin’s back, arms wrapping around his waist. Resting his chin upon a sharp shoulder, he regarded the photo of them both. “I still like the first one you took best.”

“Of course you do,” Merlin said, making Arthur smile in response, and press a kiss to his ridiculous ear.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It took a while for Arthur to regain his balance after their trip high above.  The ground felt unsteady, as if he’d been on a river journey.  Even after the walk to the Westminster Bridge stairs, he had to hang onto the railing not to fall.

Merlin didn’t notice, already bounding up the stone steps.  The entire walk he’d been prattling on about the nearby stone buildings, all of which looked like palaces to Arthur, no matter how Merlin insisted they had more practical uses.

When he saw Merlin disappear into the crowd above, Arthur hurried his pace, only to trip up the last step, and stumble forward into a group of passing pedestrians.  He tried to get out of their way, only to wind up right at the roadside, only prevented from bumbling into it by a low stone barrier.  He caught his balance against it, only to jolt at the deafening horn of a blue lorry roaring past only an arm’s length away.

The wind from its passing sent Arthur’s hair whipping into his eyes.  “Watch where you’re going!” he shouted at the monstrous thing, drawing the stares of people nearby. “That thing nearly killed me!  Did you see that, Merlin?  Merlin!”

“Over here!”

Arthur turned a full circle before spotting Merlin standing further down the bridge, beside the wall along the pavement at the bridge’s edge.  His back was turned, his mobile held up to take photos of the river.

“The city is amazing, isn’t it?” Merlin asked, once Arthur navigated the crowd to join him.

“That’s one word for it,” Arthur said, glaring back at the hated lorry, only to find it long gone.

“You know, people call the clock tower Big Ben, but that’s the name of the bell, not the tower. It’s actually the Elizabeth tower.” Merlin lifted his mobile high over his head and poked at the screen.  “Or did I mention that already?”

“A dozen times at least.” Arthur cringed as a motorbike roared past.  “Must everything be so loud here?”

Merlin took another photo, then studied his mobile screen. “Hmm?”

“Never mind.” Arthur grabbed Merlin by the back of his jacket.  “Just come on.”

“Arthur,” Merlin scolded, but moved forward at his side, taking so many pictures that he twice bumped into oncoming tourists who were doing the same thing.

Arthur found himself staring at a barge moving easily against the current.  Technology, he thought, as it approached their bridge, hopefully aiming for the vaulted arch beneath.  As he watched it disappear beneath them, he bumped shoulders into a passing man, sending him stumbling into Merlin.

“Sorry!” Merlin called over his shoulder.

“Why are you assuming it’s my fault?” Arthur demanding, tugging his jacket into place.

Merlin gave him a look that would have made Gaius proud.

“Oh shut up,” Arthur told him. “Why are there so many people here anyway?”

“This is a popular part of London.  And it’s not really that bad.  I mean, there’s a lot of people.  But the Lower Town was worse than this.”

“You’re comparing London to the Lower Town?”

“I’m comparing the pavement of Westminster Bridge to the Lower Town.  Well, to the streets of the Lower Town.  Which were about as wide as this.  And were filled with far more people, straight from the farm, none of them properly washed…  Ugh, the smell of High Street in midsummer... Disgusting.  Trust me, this is much better.”

Arthur drew in a deep breath, smelling ancient stone and salted brine upon the air.  “It smells like the dungeons of a ruined seaside castle.”

“Why am I not surprised your mind went right to dungeons?” 

“With someone having a fry up inside them,” he went on, to tease out the laughter he heard lurking beneath Merlin’s feigned exasperation.

“A fry up?”

“Fish possibly.  Or those sticks of potato.  Chips.  We should get some of those.  As soon as possible. I could murder a curry.”

Merlin finally burst out laughing, so delighted that Arthur felt his cheek muscles strain with his own answering grin.

“Murder a curry!” Merlin choked out through laughter.

“I used the phrase correctly,” Arthur informed him.

“Yes, you did, sire.” 

Arthur pressed a hand to Merlin’s back and guided him out of the path of an elderly couple.  “Rather violent turn of phrase, if you ask me.”

“Very appropriate for you, then.”

“Nonsense.  I’m the very model of non-threatening modern propriety.”  He gave a passing group of tourists a friendly smile full of teeth.  They gave him a worried look and hurried past.

Merlin laughed again, this time knocking Arthur’s shoulder with his own. “I have no idea why I’m surprised you’re already talking about food.  I mean, never mind London spread all around you, right?  You’re only interested in your stomach.”

“I am not only interested in my stomach,” Arthur said haughtily.  “I’m interested in this lovely city you’ve been telling me about.  Why look, just look over there.  It’s that lovely clock tower you won’t shut up about.  With the Elizabeth Bell.  And the friendly looking parliamentary castle, with its turrets like teeth to defend against the citizenship.”

Merlin laughed again, this time high and boyish, something Arthur couldn’t even remember hearing since he’d returned.  Not since Camelot had he heard Merlin laugh like that.  Not since they’d been young men together.  When he’d not even been Crown Prince.

I can still make him laugh like that, Arthur thought proudly.  He’s fifteen hundred years old, and I can still manage it.  I pray I never lose the knack.

“Oh my god,” Merlin was saying breathlessly, as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.  “You’re just…”

“Incredible?  Astonishing?” Arthur ran a hand through his wind blown hair.  “Stunningly handsome?”

“All those things,” Merlin said, and gave him a smile that Arthur returned at once, wondering if he looked as young as Merlin did.

It’s not just the laugh, Arthur realised.  Merlin actually looked like a younger man.  No wrinkles creased the pale rounded cheeks, nor around his full smiling lips.  Good lord, the feeling of those lips upon his own-

“Careful,” Merlin said, and pulled Arthur out of the way of a couple strolling by. 

Arthur forced his thoughts away from such things, clearing his throat and drawing in a deep breath of cool river air.  “You were saying something about food?”

“All right, all right, we’ll get something to eat, since you won’t be able to think of anything else until we do, starving to death as you are-”

“Which is your fault, because you’re the one who made us miss lunch for…”  Arthur lowered his voice and leaned closer.  “For round two.”

Merlin grinned at him, sly. “I seem to recall that being just as much your fault. You insisting we take our time.”

Arthur felt his face heat, and lifted his gaze to the clock tower.  “Yes.  Well.  A thing worth doing is a thing worth doing right, I was taught.”

“Didn’t your father teach you that?”

Arthur elbowed him savagely, then pretended to be irritated at Merlin’s laughter, smiling only when Merlin brushed his knuckles against the back of Arthur’s hand.

The fleeting touch had Arthur remembering Merlin naked beneath him, skin glistening wet with sweat, bodies slick as they’d moved together. Arthur’s resolve to take things slow had nearly broken, his hands trembling as they’d slid over Merlin’s body, teasing at his most sensitive spots; venturing into darker, secret spaces.

Only when Merlin had started whimpering into his mouth, heels pressing to Arthur’s backside, had Arthur finally relented, half mad with desire himself, to claim the man beneath him.  He could still hear Merlin’s voice in his ear, low and filthy, saying oh please yes, and Arthur don’t stop and just like that, fuck, you feel so good inside me-

The slap of Merlin’s palm to his chest snapped Arthur from his thoughts, making him stumble to a stop, behind several people who had also stopped ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“Tourists,” Merlin told him, in the same disgusted tone he used to say ‘training’.

“We’re tourists too, remember.”

“Not like them,” Merlin said, gesturing at the group of women gathering together by the bridge wall, thoughtlessly blocking everyone. One of the group moved back from the others, right by the road, holding up her mobile to photograph her friends.

When a red bus drove past on the bridge, Arthur watched the woman’s skirt flutter up shockingly high.  “What on earth happened to the rest of her dress?”

“Ssh.” 

“It looks like the lower half has been cut off.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her dress.  It’s the style these days.”

Arthur watched one of the other women take off her jacket, revealing a blouse that had large openings at the shoulders.  “Why on earth does her shirt have those enormous holes? Did moths strategically attack her wardrobe?”

“It wasn’t moths, it was- Look, will you just keep it down? And stop staring!”

“I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

Arthur watched the group of women move closer together, laughing and calling directions to the woman who was trying to take the photo, her skirt fluttering even higher with the passage of a lorry on the bridge.

“Mind you,” Merlin said, “I can’t say as I entirely blame you.”

“For what?” Arthur asked absently.

“Staring at those women.  They are quite lovely ladies, aren’t they?  Yes, indeed.  Quite beautiful.  Especially the blonde woman.  She’s blonder than you, even.”

A surge of anger had Arthur’s hand swinging up, smacking Merlin on the back of his head.

“Ow!” Merlin glared at him as he rubbed at his skull. “That hurt!”

Arthur didn’t answer, too shocked by what he’d done, and too horrified by how hard he had done it. His hand was still stinging from the slap.

“I was only joking!” Merlin snapped at him.  “On account of you ogling those women like a love struck teenaged boy!”

Arthur felt heat flood his face, despite the cool breeze.  “I wasn’t ogling them.  I was staring at their clothing.”

“Right, sure,” Merlin grumbled, crossing his arms tight over his chest, and staring out at the river.

“Why would I be looking at them?”

Merlin just shrugged, gaze still averted.

Arthur watched the wind catch Merlin’s hair, sending black strands dancing over sharp cheekbones. Standing there, in the midst of this strange place, with London there behind him, and tension pulling at every muscle of his face, he looked utterly miserable, and entirely out of place.

Idiot, Arthur told himself.  What are you doing? 

He set a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s looked over at him, dark brows arching up. “Did you just apologise?”

”Yes.  I did.”

“So you’re actually admitting you did something wrong?”

Arthur clamped down on the urge to make a joke, to be sarcastic.  “ _Yes_.”

“You were wrong,” Merlin went on happily, clearly pressing the advantage. “That’s what you’re saying? That you were wrong?”

“Get a move on,” Arthur muttered, grabbing onto Merlin’s jacket and hauling him through the disbursing crowd.

Merlin swatted him away and adjusted his jacket, as if any fussing could have made the damn thing look presentable.  “So, this new habit of apologising-“

“Which I am already regretting-”

“I think I quite like it. Which is convenient, because you’re going to be doing it a lot.  You’re an arrogant arse quite often, after all.” 

“You were being an arse yourself.”

“Only because you were being rude by staring.”

“Can you honestly blame me?  Look around you, Merlin.  Half the people half naked as if they’d forgotten to dress, and the other half look like paint splattered court jesters!”

“He’s from Wales,” Merlin told two approaching women.

“I’m from _Camelot_ ,” Arthur said haughtily, and grinned at them as they hurried past.

Merlin heaved a sigh that could be heard over the traffic, and started walking more quickly.

A passing motorbike had Arthur flinching, and shifting uneasily from the edge of the road, glaring up at the malevolent spires of Parliament looming ever larger ahead.

“It took me a while too,” Merlin said. 

Arthur tripped over a crack in the pavement, then glared over at Merlin, who was of course laughing at him.  “What are you talking about?”

“Liking men and women both.  Getting used to that in your head.  To being attracted to all sorts of people, I mean. It’s perfectly normal to be confused for a while.”

“I’m not _confused_.”

“Not even a little?”

“No, not even a little.”

“Then why…”

“Why what?”

Merlin became very abruptly fascinated by a boat full of people on a ferry gliding below their bridge. “We should take a ferry ride.  What do you think?  That looks like fun, doesn’t it-?”

“You honestly think you can still fool me by changing the subject like that?”

Merlin had the decency to cringe as he returned his attention to Arthur. “Look, my _point_ is, I understand.”

“Understand _what_? I swear to you, if you don’t start making sense, I’m going to toss you off this bridge!”

“That you need time!” Merlin burst out, as if Arthur was the one being obtuse.  “To figure out how you feel.  About what that means to you.  To be… open minded.  I mean, it took _me_ a while.  A few decades, actually.  Though in my defence, it would have been a lot faster, if the internet had been invented.”

“What use could the internet possibly be with such a thing?”

Merlin grinned at him, sly and secretive. “The internet can help you learn about all sorts of things, Arthur.”

For the first time in years, Arthur recalled a particular set of books he’d stolen from Geoffrey’s library as a young prince. The ones he’d kept hidden away, because they’d had those woodcuttings in them. 

Was sordid information like that actually on the internet?  As photographs?  As _video_ -?

“Let’s take another selfie right here,” Merlin said, and pulled Arthur over to the railing.  “With the city behind us.”

“You’re joking, aren’t you.  About the internet.”

“Stand right here, just like that,” Merlin laughed, and pressed himself to Arthur’s side, mobile lifting high.

“You are.  You have to be.  Merlin?”

“Smile up at the camera, sire!”

“ _Mer_ lin-“

This time the photo reflected Arthur’s exasperated expression, and Merlin’s answering smug grin.  The image delighted Merlin to no end, and not even Arthur’s nagging could make him take another.  He was far too busy laughing at his screen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When they reached the opposite riverbank by the clock tower, the crowds were so dense that they could hardly walk. 

Merlin took hold of Arthur’s arm, leaning in to shout over the roar of a passing bus. “Let’s go somewhere else!”

“Where to then?” Arthur shouted.

Merlin pointed to a wide set of stone stairs.  With a nod, Arthur followed him through the throng, down the broad steps to the pavement stretching along he riverbank.  After an initial crowd of people queuing up for food carts and boat tickets, the broad walkway split in two, one part up by the nearby road, the other along the river.

Arthur chose the path along the river, where the city’s noise was muted, and the air was thick with mud and brine.  Only a few people strolled here by the river’s edge, none of them in a hurry. 

Merlin resumed his narrative about the city, describing buildings they strolled past, and the occasional event from history. 

Arthur barely heard any of it, focused instead on the cool breezes plucking at his hair and jacket, and on the diffuse daylight dancing upon the waves.  Better, he thought.  This was definitely better.  Here, he could almost relax. 

Eventually they stopped for food, ordering from a vendor set up by the riverside. Merlin ordered and paid, then carried everything to the bench where Arthur sat, sheltered from the road noise by a war memorial.

After they’d finished their lunch, Merlin jogged back to the food vendor.  When he returned, he was carrying two bowls filled with what looked like curdled milk. 

“Here, try this,” Merlin said.

Arthur poked at a lump of white muck with his spoon.  “What is it?”

“Will you just eat it?”

“Last time you told me to just eat something, it wound up being rat.”

“It’s not rat, it’s gelato, and if you don’t love it, you really can throw me in the Thames.”

Despite the tempting offer, Arthur couldn’t hold back a moan of delight, the second the cold delicious spoonful began melting upon his tongue.

“Ha!  Told you.” Merlin slouched happily upon the wooden bench, long legs kicked out in front of him.  “And relax, will you?”

“I am relaxed,” Arthur said, but knew it for the lie it was. The passing people kept drawing his attention, and the cars traveling the road behind them wore on his nerves. Only by focusing on the flowing river could he ease the tension in his body.  And even then, not by much. 

For a while they sat eating their deserts, Arthur watching the boats and ferries speed by on the water.  Even they were in a hurry, it seemed. 

Shouts nearby made him startle, glancing down the pavement to see a family walking towards them, squealing children playing a game of tag ahead of their parents.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Arthur mused.

“What is?”

“Sitting here, with all these people around, with none of them wanting to kill me?”

“That’s only because they don’t know you very well.”

Arthur kicked at Merlin’s foot. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.  I suppose.”

“No bandits, no royal assassins, no spies from neighbouring kingdoms…”

“I don’t know, sire.  That woman there looks suspicious, doesn’t she?”

Arthur glanced down the pavement, then had to struggle to suppress a smile. “Perhaps you’re right.  Her cane and white hair could be part of a clever disguise.”

“And her enormous handbag could be concealing any number of weapons.”

“A mace would easily fit inside it.”

“Or any number of daggers.”

Together they watched the old woman hobble past.  When she caught them staring, she gave them a scathing look.

Arthur shifted on the bench and focused on his desert.  Next to him Merlin ducked his head and did the same.

When she was well out of hearing distance, Merlin choked out a laugh.  Arthur did as well.

For a long while they sat there upon the bench, eating their deserts, while the people of London strolled by, and the river flowed beyond.

“I knew you’d love gelato,” Merlin said.

Arthur left off scraping at his bowl to watch Merlin lick his own, getting chocolate all over his mouth in the process. “How do you still make a mess of yourself when you eat?”

“Is there something on my face?”

“To put it mildly.”

Merlin dragged a hand over his mouth. “Did I get it?”

“No, it’s here…” Arthur dragged his thumb over Merlin’s wet bottom lip.

Merlin went still, his eyes drifting half closed at the contact.  His tongue darted out, touching Arthur’s thumb, his breath warm and scented of chocolate. 

Too tempted by Merlin’s closeness, and wanting desperately to have more of it, he leaned closer, his hand sliding up to cup Merlin’s cheek, overwhelmed with the urge to taste-

From nearby came a burst of laughter. 

Merlin jerked away, glancing sharply at where a group of young people were walking by, laughing together.  Without another word, he surged to his feet.  “The clock tower!  Yes, we should- I mean- Let’s do that!” 

Arthur watched Merlin trip over the bench leg, drop his bowl, then fall over his own feet picking it up. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”  Merlin grabbed Arthur’s bowl and chucked it it into a nearby bin along with his own. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you look like you’re having some sort of episode.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at him and looked out at the river.  “Maybe we should skip the clock tower.  On account of the crowds.  Yeah, that’s better.  We’ll do that.”

Arthur had to hurry to catch Merlin up, because he’d already started down the pavement. “Merlin, what in the hell are-?“

“There’s always Buckingham Palace.  Although that’s a risk too.  On account of your prattish habits.”

“My what?  What are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about your prattish regal attitude.  Which would only get worse if I exposed you to a bunch of spoiled modern royalty.  You’d wind up unbearable.”

“If you remember, I’m the one who said we should wait in queue at the London Eye like the rest of the commoners.”

“Commoners?”

“I meant common people. Other people.  You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, your majesty.  Just like I know that you keep calling the hotel staff ‘servants’.”

“I do not.”

“Three times this morning.”

“It was twice, at most.”

“And right there is the royal prattish attitude I was talking about.”

“There must be stocks I could put you in, somewhere in this city.”

“Promises, promises,” Merlin said, and gave him a filthy smile.

Arthur tripped over a rise in the pavement, then stared.

“Look it up on the internet,” Merlin said, wry, and then to Arthur’s frustration, refused to explain any further.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The closer they drew to the enormous clock tower, the denser the crowds became.  Even Merlin muttered constant irritation at it, striding through the people as swiftly as he could, not even glancing up at the clock tower as they passed it by. 

He slowed down only when they reached an enormous park, several blocks wide.  Its wide green lawns and towering trees were a startling contrast to the stone city, and an altogether welcome sight.

Once he and Merlin had found their way onto the park’s winding paths, Arthur drew in a deep breath.  He could smell fresh grass, and flowers, upon the cool breeze.  Birds sang nearby, amid distant voices. He even spotted a lake beyond the thick underbrush lining the path.

“This is quite nice,” Arthur said, actually meaning it for once, because the greenery had muted the sounds of the city, and finally, he could relax.

“Yes, very nice,” Merlin said.

Arthur watched Merlin lift his hand, fingertips brushing against low hanging leaves.  The branches danced in the wake of his touch, as if reaching for him in turn.  A ridiculous romantic notion to be sure.  Though the way Merlin was smiling made him wonder.

“I bet we could find toads here,” Merlin said.

“Toads?”

“Yes.  For the fish.  Five or six should be enough, don’t you think?”

“One would be more than enough. I doubt William or any of the other servants-“

“Employees-”

“-would want toads in their lobby, croaking at all hours, keeping everyone awake.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask them to be quiet.”

“And right there, that’s one of those times where I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” Merlin asked, all innocence.  “Oh look!  There it is!”

Arthur heaved a loud sigh and followed Merlin down the path, through iron gates and towards a multi-lane traffic roundabout. 

In its centre was an imposing stone memorial made of fountains and steps and a central pillar, a golden winged statue upon its top, looking over what had to be Buckingham Palace.

Ostentatious, Arthur thought, the word sounding in his head like his father’s voice. Uther had detested land barons who built monuments to their own vanity.  Detested them even more, when their fortifications were as poorly thought out as this. 

Ornamentation covered every inch of the stone façade, indulgent and artistic and entirely without purpose.  It reminded Arthur of a woman’s embroidered dress, the way each of the five stories was lined with statues, and the way the thick columns rose between the windows. 

Arthur felt disapproval wrinkling up his nose, but he held back his derisive comments, following Merlin across the street, and over to the gates that lined the palace courtyard.

“So,” Merlin said, when they stood before the gates with the hundreds of other tourists who had come to see the ridiculous thing.  “Buckingham Palace, then.”

“You don’t sound entirely certain.”

“No, no… That’s… definitely it.”

A dozen men were marching across the courtyard in red uniforms, ludicrous black hats bobbing upon their heads. “What on earth are they doing?”

“I think they’re practicing.”

“Practicing for what?  Dancing?  What sort of ridiculous march is that?”

“They’re probably practicing for the parade.  They’re the Queen’s Guard.”

“They’re meant to guard the Queen?”

“Well, along with those blokes over there.”

Arthur followed Merlin’s nod, and saw several men in dark uniforms by the gate, each carrying metal weapons he recalled from his studies on modern warfare. “Well that’s better. Because her guards have no military bearing at all.”

“They are actually soldiers, all of them.  They’re just marching like that because-“

“Because they’re idiots. Moving that way, the could be picked off by the dozen with just one lance.  And those uniforms. Totally impractical.  What purpose could an enormous black hat serve in battle?”

“They’re just a decoration.  Like the capes that the knights wore.”

“Those capes were a symbol,” Arthur said, allowing himself more than little regal irritation.  “They bore our crest and the colour of our kingdom.  Unlike those hats, they made a real statement.”

“Yes, they did.  They said:  Oh look!  It’s the king and his men!  Easily spotted and attacked in the green forest because of their bright red capes!”

“Is this palace meant to be a fortification?” Arthur interrupted, to avoid acknowledging the truth of Merlin’s words.

“I don’t think so.  Not anymore, anyway.”

“I should hope not, because I can spot at least dozen ways to easily assassinate the Queen.”

“Arthur-“

“I’d break those bottom windows with rocks,” Arthur said, pointing through the gate, “and send in two men at a time through the openings, as a first line of attack to flush her out of the back.  Then with a line of archers, I’d-“

“That’s such a funny joke!” Merlin said loudly, yanking Arthur by the arm to hiss into his ear. "Sire, could you please wait until later to explain how you’d kill their Queen?”

Arthur followed Merlin’s nervous glance to the two black uniformed men.  Both were watching them quite closely.  “Oh.  Yes.”  He withdrew his arm from between the bars.  “Just joking!” he added, for good measure.

Beside him, Merlin groaned in irritation.

“Though I’m not wrong,” Arthur added, because he wasn’t.

Merlin mumbled something disparaging about common sense and royalty, which Arthur ignored in favour of studying the building before him. 

“Ridiculous thing,” Arthur said.  “What kind of royalty would be so stupid as to flaunt their wealth so blatantly, without any means of defence?  Just a few good rocks, honestly...”

“When we get back to the hotel, you can write a long letter to the Windsors.  Tell them all the ways to improve their security.”

“I think I shall.  Nobility should look out for one another, after all.”

When Merlin didn’t reply, Arthur glanced over, to find him glaring at the building.  “It should be yours,” he said angrily. “That palace and all their lands.  You’re the true king.”

“A fact they’ll never know.  Which is as it should be.”

Merlin didn’t agree, judging by the sullen way he shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the building.

“No assassins, remember?” Arthur asked.  “No spies from enemy kingdoms?”

Merlin ducked his head and smiled. “No one trying to kill you every single day.”

“Or you,” Arthur agreed, and took Merlin by the arm, leading him away from the ornate palace, before he could do some damn fool sentimental thing, like have the Court of Windsor kneeling at Arthur’s feet. 

“Just a few rocks is all you’d need anyway, right?” Merlin asked, sounding like he was trying to console himself.

“Worst design of a castle I’ve ever seen,” Arthur said, and left his hand upon Merlin’s arm, all the way back to Saint James Park.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As the afternoon wore into evening, they wandered through the city, never straying far from the river.  Merlin pointed out places of interest as they went, full of stories about about pirates and lords, shipyards and floods.

When sunset glowed red and orange in the skies, reflecting off the lingering clouds, they made their way to a tavern.  It had a nonsensical name in tall wooden letters, set above wide lattice-covered front windows and a thick front door.

Arthur opened it to a softly lit room covered in dark wood panelled walls, thick with the smells of frying food and ale. “This will do nicely.”

When he moved toward a table, Merlin blocked his way, pointing to the bar along the far wall.  “We need to order over there.”

“Of course we do,” Arthur said, moving to an empty spot at the bar railing as if he’d meant to all along.  Once there, he lifted his arm high. “Service!”

“Not like that.” Merlin shoved Arthur’s arm down. “You’re worse than a tourist.  Here, let me, will you?”

“I know what I’m doing,” Arthur said, then gave his best smile to the barmaid who’d approached. “Good evening!  Bring us two tankards of mead and two meat pies.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Please,” Arthur added, belatedly remembering.

The woman blinked, then looked over at Merlin. 

“He’s from Wales,” Merlin told her, with one of those awkward, harmless smiles that somehow always got him his way. “What he meant to say was that we’d like half a Badger Ale Golden and a Gosnell’s London, plus one for yourself if you’d like.  Oh, and do we order at the bar or at the table?”

“At the table,” the woman said. “Would you be liking a tab, then?”

“Cheers.” Merlin handed her a plastic card from his wallet.  “We’ll be over at…” He peered into the pub.  “Number Six, yeah?”

“Number Six.  I’ll be over in just a tick.”

After she’d walked off, Arthur leaned close to Merlin. “What in the hell did you just say?”

“I got us drinks and a table, and told her we wanted dinner.”

“Nowhere in any of that gibberish did I hear any of those words.”

“And yet look,” Merlin said smugly.  “She’s getting us our drinks. And she’s going to take them to that table, there.”

Arthur grumbled a token protest, but followed Merlin to the empty wooden table by the tavern windows.  After throwing his jacket onto a chairback, Arthur sat heavily upon it, groaning like an old man.

Merlin collapsed onto the seat opposite him, then hunched forward and rubbed at his legs. “My knees are _killing_ me.”

“Your knees and my feet both.”

“It’s got to be the pavement.  Hours of walking on flat stone isn’t like marching on grass, is it.” 

“Not even a little.” Arthur turned in his chair to face the tavern’s interior, pulling an ankle up onto his knee, so he could pull off his trainer and rub at his aching foot.

“Arthur, stop that. There are people trying to eat here.”

There were, in fact, five other people in the place.  A family of three at a table across the room, and two men standing at the bar.  “None of them are even noticing,” Arthur said, digging his thumbs more vigorously into his arch.

“Will you at least do that under the table?”

“If it bothers you so much...” Arthur twisted in his chair to extend his leg between them, toes nudging at Merlin’s knee. “You do it.”

Merlin knocked his foot away. “Now you’re going to make me lose my appetite.”

“You’re still a physician, aren’t you?” Arthur set his heel atop Merlin’s thigh. “Come on, physician. Your king is injured.”

“My king is spoiled, you mean,” Merlin said, but he was smirking as he said it, and he took hold of Arthur’s foot under the table.

Arthur barely suppressed a groan at the blissful pressure of Merlin’s fingers pressing into the arch of his foot.  Though in Camelot Merlin had often tended to Arthur’s aches and pains, he hadn’t yet done so since their change in relationship.  Which made the shockingly erotic quality of the touch now only that much more startling. 

“Feel good?” Merlin asked, as his thumbs circled upon the soft padding around Arthur’s toes.

Arthur licked his lips and nodded, knowing he should tell Merlin to stop, yet unable to get his voice to comply.

Across the table Merlin lifted his gaze, his eyes dark in the dim light from the window.  One hand slid away from Arthur’s foot.  “How about this?” he asked, and slid his hand up the trouser leg of Arthur’s jeans, fingernails dragging over skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.  “Feel good?” he asked, and quirked up an eyebrow in challenge.

“As good as this, I wager,” Arthur told him, and shifted forward on his chair, easing his heel into the heat between Merlin’s legs.

Merlin licked his lips and cleared his throat, fingers pulling Arthur’s foot against him, Arthur shifting forward just a little more, to-

“Your drinks, gents!”

The bang of Arthur’s knee hitting the table was almost as loud as Merlin’s yelp in response, as he jerked back and nearly tipped over his chair.

The woman just smiled at them both, as if there was nothing strange about them shifting guiltily in their chairs and avoiding her gaze. “Need a few minutes before you order?” she asked in obvious delight, as she set their two glasses upon the table.

“Yes please thank you,” Merlin said in a rush, and nearly knocked over his glass when he reached for it.

Arthur stared at the table as the woman walked away. Only when he heard Merlin’s strangled laugh did he look up again, to see a smile full of mischief upon Merlin’s face.

“Honestly,” Arthur scolded, the admonishment sounding far too fond.

“I know, right?” Merlin laughed, and lifted his glass full of amber liquid.

Arthur shook his head and did the same, turning his glass in the light to study its rich colour.  “This is definitely an improvement over the quality of drink at the Rising Sun.”

“I ordered you the modern day version of mead.  It might not be exactly what you remember.  But won’t find any bugs in it, at least.”

Arthur lifted his glass to Merlin’s.  “So what shall we drink to?”

After a long moment staring at his glass, Merlin nodded to himself. “To second chances,” he said roughly, and clinked his glass to Arthur’s.

Arthur took hold of Merlin’s wrist before he could drink.  “No.”  At Merlin’s frown, he rubbed his thumb over the ridge of bone at his wrist.  Smiling across the table at him.  “To new beginnings.”

Merlin’s answering smile was more melancholy than his own.  But it was a smile, at least. “To new beginnings,” he agreed. 

And together they drank to that.

As the evening wore into night, the pub grew more crowded.  Families disappeared, replaced by a more boisterous crowd, filling up not only the tables, but also the bar and the standing areas as well.

It was a familiar type of noise though, one Arthur found himself able to ignore.  Although in truth, the mead and the ale and whatever else he’d been drinking over the past couple of hours certainly was helping. 

They ordered food several times, Merlin selecting different things from the menu each round, ordering them more ale every time. 

By the time Arthur had eaten his fill, his cheeks had grown pink from the tavern’s warmth and glasses of mead he’d forgotten to count.  In something of a daze, he wondered when that had happened.  Was it after the third?  Or the fourth.

Across the table, Merlin laughed at something, and Arthur frowned and tried to pay attention, but got distracted with the way Merlin’s plush lips were glistening with drink. For a while he let himself stare, nodding vaguely whenever he felt he should, until Merlin abruptly stood up, swaying so much that his knees bumped into the table.

Arthur grabbed the table to steady it. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t hear you over this noise!” Merlin said, swinging out an arm to the crowd filling up the place.  After giving them all a narrow eyed stare, he grabbed his chair, dragged it over to Arthur’s side, and collapsed into it, so close that their shoulders pressed together. “That’s better!” he said, and plucked a chip from Arthur’s plate.

“You’re just after my food, admit it.”

“To start with,” Merlin told him, giving him a filthy grin, his leg sliding against Arthur’s beneath the table.

Arthur set down his ale glass and leaned closer, studying Merlin’s half lidded eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“No drunker than you.”

“I don’t think ‘drunker’ is a word.”

“Of course it is.  Drunk, drunker, drunkest. See?”

“Well you’re more drunker than I am,” Arthur said, and then frowned at the odd wording.  “More drunk, I mean,” he amended, doing his best not to slur his words.

“This is only my fifth,” Merlin informed him, lifting his glass. 

“As is this. Yet I’m not as inebrimad- drunk as you.” 

Merlin snorted into his ale, spilling a good measure of it on his shirt.

“You see? You can’t even sit up straight.”

“Pfff.  Just wait till you.”  Merlin flopped a hand at him. “The thing.  Get up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my balance, Merlin.”

“Then try to stand up, Arthur.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, staring imperiously across the blur of colors and shapes that filled the room.  “I’ll stand when I want to.”

“Ha. Thought so.”

Arthur shoved himself to his feet, staggered, and caught himself on an outcropping of the wall, his hands landing upon the small breasts of a nearby statue. “My apologies, my lady,” he said to it, and sat back down hard in his seat, hands held up in apology.

Merlin bent double with his laughter, forehead thumping against his half-eaten food.

“Oh stop it.” Arthur grabbed his shoulder to sit him up.  “You have meat pie in your hair.”

“You grabbed her- And then said-“  Merlin chuckled some more, pink cheeks full with his grin, as he ran a hand back and forth over his hair.

Arthur refused to be distracted by the urge to replace Merlin’s fingers with his own. “It’s this mead,” he insisted. “It’s far stronger than it used to be, and now I’m drunk.”

“Really drunk,” Merlin agreed happily.

“The point, Merlin, is that I’m a- that a royal- That I- You really never did grasp even-  Not one bit.”

Merlin squinted at him.  “What language are you speaking?”

“What I’m telling you, if you’d listen, is that I’m-“ He paused to focus on his pronunciation. “Physically compromised.”  There, he thought.  Those were big words.  Nothing wrong with him at all. 

“You don’t look physically compromised,” Merlin said, stumbling over all the syllables, as his gaze dragged down and up Arthur’s body, another filthy smile upon his lips.

“And without the royal guards,” Arthur went on, as some part of his brain delighted in Merlin’s flirtation.  And good lord that was a wonderful and new experience. And yet not so new at all, really.  Because other than the leering and the slightly more intimate touching, it really wasn’t so different than how they’d been before.

Merlin lifted his glass to his lips.  Slid his tongue along the rim of it.  All the while holding Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur elbowed him, shifting in place.  “I have no guards,” he insisted.  Because he refused to be flirted out of making his point.  “I have no knights.  To protect the king.”

“Oh that!”  Merlin dropped his glass to the table, right on the edge of the plate, scattering bits of leftover meat pie.  “Right.  Well.  That’s all right then.  Because I’m here!” 

“You can’t even stand up, much less defend me.”

“I can too stand up!”  Merlin shoved himself to his feet, then grabbed the table, blinking in obvious surprise.  “Wow.  That’s…. Yeah.”

“We’d best start back to the hotel,” Arthur said, grabbing his jacket from the chair. “While you can still actually walk, I mean.”

“Lemme pay the tab,” Merlin said, nearly toppling over the chair as he pulled his brown jacket from it. “And then I need the loo.”

Arthur paused with his jacket half on, as Merlin’s translation spell suggested the mental image of a privy.  “The loo?”

“Loo.  Toilet.  WC.  Washroom.  You know…”

“Gods above will you _stop_ ,” Arthur said, at Merlin’s vulgar miming.

Merlin leaned down, a hand landing on the back of Arthur’s chair, nearly tipping him backwards, as he whispered close and hot into his ear. “That’s not what you said to me earlier, my lord.”

Desire sliced through Arthur’s haze of alcohol, mingling with his shock at Merlin’s skill at pouring sexual overtones into his title.  “I seem to recall,” Arthur said, lips brushing against Merlin’s ear, “that you were doing most of the begging.”

“Was I?” Merlin asked, his breath hot upon Arthur’s cheek.  “I don’t seem to remember that.”

“I’ll have to remind you, then.  Later.”

“Promises, promises,” Merlin said, leaning away, half his mouth pulled up in a wicked smile. 

Arthur stood unsteadily, fighting a rather shockingly powerful urge to push Merlin up against the wall and press their mouths together, licking past those wet lips and into his mouth, to taste the lingering ale there.

Something of his internal struggle must have shown on his face, because Merlin chuckled to himself, and bowed just slightly at the waist, peering up at him through his thick eyelashes.  “My lord.”

Arthur licked his lips and stepped forward, reaching out.

Merlin darted from his grasp, then tripped over a chair leg, nearly tumbled over a table full of people, then staggered away, giggling.

Arthur was left stood at the table, breathing hard and clutching the edges of his jacket, too stunned to do much aside from stare. 

The hotel, he told himself.  We absolutely need to get back to the hotel.  As quickly as possible.  Unless there’s a dark alley on the way.  There had to be dark alleys in a city this size.  He was definitely going to find them both a dark alley.

As Merlin settled the tab, Arthur ventured to the washroom, to prepare for the long walk.  After an entirely awkward experience in the public facilities – and really, they should just say ‘women only’ or ‘men only’ on the door, instead of putting a vague picture there – Arthur returned to the bar, to wait for Merlin to join him. 

A waitress approached through the tables, a tray of small colourful drinks in her hand, smiling brightly even though her dark upswept hair was mussed, and her cheeks flushed from tending her customers.  “Like to try tonight’s special?” she asked, and offered her tray.

“I’ve already had more than enough,” Arthur said, leaning an elbow upon the bar, only to knock over several bottles standing there. When he hurriedly tried to right them, he knocked over another bottle, spilling ale onto the counter.

“You’re not driving, are you?” she asked, setting down her tray on the bar to help him.

“No driving.  We’re in a hotel.  Across the-”  He startled as she grabbed onto his shoulder, her hands sliding overly familiar down his arm, as she leaned past him to retrieve a fallen bottle.

“Close quarters in here tonight,” she said, and winked at him.

“Yes,” he said, and tried to step backward, only to bump into someone behind him.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything else?” she asked brightly, and picked up her tray. 

“No. Thank you,” he added, remembering belatedly that she wasn’t a servant, and that he wasn’t her king, and she had every right to treat him however she liked.

“Right then, come again soon!” she said, and gave his arm a quick pat before she left.

Arthur stared after her as she moved to a group of young men and women nearby, holding out her tray and standing just as close to them as she had to him.  She touched several on shoulders and arms as she spoke, none of them apparently minding in the least.

Yet another thing to get used to, Arthur thought. People laying hands upon his royal person. Treating him as they never would have imagined in Camelot.

He looked away, to find Merlin, to share what had happened.  Realised that Merlin stood only paces away, narrow eyed and glaring, brown jacket hanging askew upon his shoulders.

“Oh there you are,” Arthur said, surprised. 

“Yes, here I am.  My apologies for interrupting.”

“Interrupting?  What are you talking about?”

Merlin pressed his lips tight and strode past without answering, weaving through the tables, knocking into a few chairs, then yanking open the front door to vanish outside.

Arthur jogged unsteadily after him, into the cool night.  Though the skies were dark, the streets were lit by streetlights and the passing shop windows or tavern, making Merlin easy to spot down the pavement.

“Will you slow down?” Arthur demanded, when he finally reached Merlin’s side.  “The hotel isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, so you want to go to the hotel now?” Merlin asked, in tones of highest sarcasm, which for him was saying a lot.  “I could have sworn you wanted to stay at the pub, _my lord_.”

“I’m the one who suggested going back to the hotel.  Which, incidentally, is the opposite direction.”

Merlin stumbled to a stop, looked around at the nearby buildings, then stumbled off down a nearby alleyway.

“This is _definitely_ not the right way,” Arthur told him, because he could see the Thames flowing beyond the end of the lane.

Merlin ignored him, descending the stairs to the river foreshore amid angry mumbling, steadying himself with hands pressed to the buildings on either side.

Arthur slipped twice on the slime covered stone steps, battling irritation and intoxication to stay on his feet.  “Dammit, Merlin, where are you going?”

“Ha!” Merlin said loudly, voice echoing amid the crunching of stone as he marched to the river’s edge. He thrust an arm to point down river, swaying on his feet. “See there?  I was right!  The hotel _is_ that way!”

Arthur nodded at the sight of the London Eye, all lit up in blue like a beacon home down the river. “That was good thinking of you.”

“Why thank you, sire, I’m so glad I could be of some use, sire.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm as he marched off toward the stairs.  “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, my lord,” Merlin said, and tried to pull free. 

The stones shifted beneath Arthur’s feet, making him stagger sideways, then slide in a patch of mud. “Will you be careful?”

“Then let me go!” Merlin demanded, and yanked free so roughly that he staggered toward the river.

Arthur caught him just in time, nearly falling into the swift dark water himself. “Will you be careful!  I have no intention of taking a swim in the damned Thames, just because my idiot boyfriend is throwing a tantrum like a child!”

Merlin stopped walking, looking stunned. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re acting like a child!”

“No, the… The other thing.”

Arthur thought back on his words. “That you’re an idiot?”

“No, I… You said… Boyfriend?”

“What of it?” Arthur asked, but that only made the furrow between Merlin’s dark brows deepen, which made no sense at all. 

“Nothing, I…”  Merlin looked out over the river, the wind sending his hair dancing over his cheeks.  “Nothing.  Just.  Let’s go.”

Arthur caught his arm again, holding him in place.  But the wretched look Merlin gave him had his question dying upon his lips.  Whatever was bothering Merlin, he wasn’t going to talk about it.  Not now.  Not acting like this.  “Come on, then,” Arthur said, and headed back toward the stairs.

Merlin followed without comment, his silent turmoil a stone in Arthur’s stomach.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By the time they walked into the hotel lobby, Arthur had a thunderous headache.  He found himself rubbing at his neck as he walked, barely aware of anyone around him.  Only after he crossed the wooden bridge across the pond did he drop his hand, to press his access card to their private lift access.

Behind him, he heard Merlin speaking with a kindness he’d not afforded his king the entire walk back.

“Soon, I promise.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to find Merlin crouching on the wooden bridge, twenty fish floating together in the water below, all staring up at him. 

“Yes,” Merlin told them.  “That too.”

Arthur leaned back upon the closed doors, watching Merlin swish his fingertips in the water.   The fish all turned and swam away, apparently dismissed from their assembly.  When Arthur made to comment, he spotted William on the opposite side of the pond, watching them.

“Merlin-“ Arthur began, but then gave a startled shout as the wall vanished behind him.

Merlin didn’t even bother to try and stifle his laughter as he stepped by where Arthur lay on the lift floor. “Those doors open, you know.”

“Yes, Merlin, I noticed.”  Arthur got to his feet brushing dirt from his jeans, strangling the urge to hit something. “There should be a damned bell to warn you that’s going to happen.”

“Right,” Merlin chuckled, and ducked his head to rather poorly hide his smile.

Arthur stared up at the numbers above the door, giving his jacket a strong tug upon his shoulders. “A bath is in order, I should think.  And several bottles of water. Fill the tub when we get upstairs.”

“Are you seriously going to boss me around because I laughed at you?”

“Now would I do something like that?” Arthur asked sweetly, and exited the lift before Merlin could mutter a word of complaint.

The hotel staff had left them a basket of breads, freshly baked and delicious even with the bottles of water that Arthur forced down. When he’d stuffed himself full, and the throbbing in his head had diminished, he carried the basket and two bottles back to their bedroom.

Merlin was in the washroom, if the splashing water was any indication.  After Arthur stripped off his clothes, he carried the basket there, the warm humid air a familiar caress against his naked skin. Merlin’s back was to him, his jacket still on, as he sat on the edge of the enormous square tub, swishing his fingers in the water.

“Try not to flood the bathroom,” Arthur told him, as he set down the basket. 

Merlin twisted around, then nearly fell into the water, only barely catching himself.  As the sound of splashing echoed through the tiled room, Merlin’s his gaze travelled down and up Arthur’s body, lingering for a while upon the relaxed length of his cock.

Arthur bent down to dip his fingers into the warm water, intentionally turning to draw Merlin’s gave to the curve of his backside.  “This is the most ridiculous tub I’ve ever seen.  What are all these holes for anyway?”

A gratifying pause, before Merlin cleared his throat.  “It’s.  Um.  Jacuzzi.”

“What’s that?”

“A Jacuzzi.  Or.  It will be.  After I press this button.”

Arthur cringed as the tub’s loud rumbling filled the room, the water bubbling violently amid hissing bubbles and swirling eddies. “How the hell is it doing that?”

“Jets of air beneath the water,” Merlin said loudly, over the noise.

It reminded Arthur of the constant discord of the city grating on his nerves. “Make it stop.”

“Don’t you want to try it?”

“I said shut it _off_.”

Merlin pressed the button, and the water grew still, foam fizzing away into blissful silence.

“Why can’t a bath just be a bath?” Arthur complained, and stepped into the tub, the hot water easing instantly into sore muscles, making him groan as he sat down against one end.  He extended his legs fully, plenty of room to spare, water sliding like a caress up and over his shoulders.  When he tipped his head back, he squinted at the overhead lights.  “Turn those lights off, will you?”

“You want to bathe in the dark?”

“Good point. Best light some candles.” Arthur turned his head upon the tub’s edge. “Fetch the candelabra from the dining table.”

“Candelabra,” Merlin muttered, and shook his head.  “Sure.”

When he left, Arthur slid lower, water rising to his chin, so soothing that he slipped into a light doze. He startled when Merlin returned carrying the golden candelabra in both arms, apparently heavier than he had thought.  When set it in the middle of the floor, he waved a hand at it, his back unfortunately turned so that Arthur couldn’t see.  Once the flames were all burning brightly, Merlin went and shut off the lights.

Candlelight flickered upon marble tile and metal fixtures, dancing upon the broad mirrors and row of sinks, glowing soft and familiar upon Merlin’s face.

“Much better,” Arthur sighed, and closed his eyes.

“Right.  So.”  The sound of cloth moving against cloth. Of Merlin’s hands brushing against his jeans.

“Merlin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you intend to ever get in?”

At the silence, Arthur opened his eyes, to find Merlin staring at him as if he couldn’t understand what he’d heard.

“You have ten seconds to take your clothes off and get in,” Arthur said lazily, “or I will pull you in fully dressed myself.  Either option is fine with me.”

The laugh Merlin gave was more relieved than Arthur expected.  He began pulling at his clothes straightaway, jacket and shirt swiftly off to reveal a lean muscled chest dusted with dark hair.  “You sure you don’t want the Jacuzzi on?”

Arthur watched Merlin’s long pale fingers work open his jeans.  “Hmm?”

“The bubbles really are nice,” Merlin noted, and shoved his jeans and pants down to the floor. 

Arthur found he couldn’t respond.  There was too much skin on display, all of it pale and beautiful in the flickering candlelight, dancing over the angle of sinew, the jut of bone, and the shape of his cock.

How did I not always see how attractive he was? Arthur wondered.  He’d known at some level, he supposed.  But now it hit him like a shield to the head, knocking every thought away, desire catching like a flame upon dried wheat, roaring without hesitation into a wildfire.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up from where he’d been watching Merlin’s cock filling, to the flush upon Merlin’s cheeks, obvious even in the candlelight.

Merlin huffed a laugh and ducked his head, a crooked smile pulling at his plush lips.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and held out a hand.

Merlin silently took it, stepping carefully into the tub, then sinking with a moan into the water. When he tried to settle in Arthur’s lap facing him, Arthur shook his head, and took hold of Merlin’s warm shoulders, turning him in place.

“What are-?”

“Face away from me,” Arthur said, spreading his legs wide, for Merlin to ease his backside between them in a tempting slide of skin on skin. “Now lean back.”

“I can’t wash you this way,” Merlin complained, though he leaned back upon Arthur’s chest, tipping his head back against Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur shoved a hand between them, adjusting the angle of his cock, already hard from Merlin’s squirming. “Be careful, will you?”

“What, you mean like this?” Merlin asked, and wriggled his backside.

“Be still,” Arthur scolded, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s chest, holding him in place.

As the water stilled, the room grew silent enough for Arthur to hear the soft sounds of their breathing.  With a sigh, he pressed his cheek to Merlin’s, and for a while just stared at the candlelight dancing upon the tile.

For the first time that day, Arthur felt himself truly relax.

Judging by how Merlin stretched out his legs and leaned heavily against Arthur’s chest, he was feeling much the same.

“So,” Arthur said, “what did you think of your first day in London?” 

Only silence in reply. 

Arthur leaned away, just enough to study Merlin’s profile in the flickering candlelight.  His eyes were closed, his lashes dark upon his cheeks, glistening with moisture.  “You awake?”

“I’m awake.  I’m just thinking.”

“Well we know how dangerous that can be.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Arthur nosed at one ridiculous ear.  “Come on then.  Tell me.”

Merlin tilted his head upon Arthur’s shoulder, to look at him.  “You first.  What did you think?”

Arthur thought about the ceaseless traffic, and the intrusive press of bodies, and the constant lack of anything even remotely familiar. “It was quite good,” he said, in the same tone he’d once used to lie to his father.

“Yeah.  Good.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I am.  Really.  I just…”

Arthur rubbed up and down Merlin’s chest.  “You just…”

“Hm?  Oh.  I just… I suppose I had this idea, you know?  Of what it would be like.  From watching from a distance for so long.  I mean, it’s amazing, and beautiful, and really, really big.  But it’s just… different.  From how I thought it would be.”

“That’s understandable.  It is quite a lot to take in, after all.  Very…”  Overwhelming.  Intimidating.  Irritating.  “Vast,” Arthur finished.  “I’m sure tomorrow you’ll feel differently.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.  Once you’re used to it, you’ll feel like a Londoner in no time.”

“And what about you?”

“Me? I already feel like a Londoner.”

“Of course you do,” Merlin said, and covered Arthur’s hands with his own, squeezing gently.

“You’ll see,” Arthur assured him.  “You’ll feel right at home.  Just give it some time.”

Merlin’s silence suggested he had a great deal to say to that. 

Arthur decided to let it go, resting his chin atop Merlin’s shoulder, to stare at the oversized swimming pool of a tub.  “This Jacuzzi thing really is ridiculously large.”

“And yet here we both are, pressed together in one corner.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“My only problem is that you won’t let me turn around.”

Arthur slid his hands downward, stilling Merlin’s wriggling hips.  “So are you saying,” he asked, as he traced the twitching contours of Merlin’s abdominal muscles, “that you wouldn’t want to just sit here, and let me do all the work?”

Merlin squirmed as Arthur’s curious fingers ventured lower. “Work?” he choked out.

“Yes, Merlin.” Arthur dragged his fingertips along the length of Merlin’s erection. “Work.”

Merlin’s gasp was loud in the silence.

“That’s what I thought,” Arthur said, and moved his hand the way he liked it himself – at first light and teasing, and then tight and fast, before easing off to start all over again. He’d gone an hour in the past just like that. Desire ebbing and flowing like the waves. Pleasure and denial mixing deliciously together.  Until finally, tipping over that sweet precipice.

After only a few minutes, Merlin whimpered and shoved his hips forward.

Arthur wrapped his free arm tight around his waist.  “Stop squirming.”

“You’re not… Will you just… Do it like this,” Merlin said, and he grabbed Arthur’s hand tight, moving it faster.

“Not like that,” Arthur corrected, and moved his hand away.

“Why not?”

The petulance had Arthur smiling, as he wrapped his fingers around Merlin’s cock.  “Because my way is better.”

“I don’t do it that way.”

“You do it like you’re trying to win a race,” Arthur scolded, his fingertips tracing along soft ridges, teasing at the most sensitive places. 

Merlin shuddered and moaned, eyes squeezed closed as if in pain.

“Relax,” Arthur whispered.  “And let me.”

“But… don’t you want to…?”

“The answer to that is fairly obvious,” Arthur said, and shifted against Merlin’s body, cock sliding hard against Merlin’s backside, sending a delicious shiver up his spine.

“Then why…?”

“You so rarely let me do things like this for you.  Things that are just for you.”  He tightened his grip, stroking just enough to make Merlin whimper.  “Let me, won’t you?”

“Arthur-”

“Please?” Arthur asked, knowing it would get him his way.

Merlin thumped his head back upon Arthur’s collarbone.  “Bastard,” he groaned.

“King,” Arthur corrected, and silenced any insolent reply with a kiss.

For a long while, there was only the wet sounds of their mouths, and the soft splashing of water, and the sound of sighs, and curses, and moans. 

Arthur held to his resolve as long as he could, lavishing Merlin’s plush lips with kisses, hand working him then easing him off, his own cock hard and sliding between the press of their bodies.

“I need,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s skin.  “I need… Arthur… _please_ …”

The plea broke Arthur’s resolve, speeding his hand, Merlin writhing like a wild thing in his arms in response.  Within moments Arthur gave a startled shout of pleasure, as the rhythmic thrusting of Merlin’s hips brought him to his own release. 

Merlin’s hand closed around his own, moving them together, until he tensed and went still in Arthur’s arms, his throaty groan as much relief as it was pleasure.

Arthur held Merlin through his shuddering aftershocks, each jerk of Merlin’s body against his cock sending shivers up his spine. 

“Holy hell,” Merlin groaned at the ceiling, and collapsed back upon Arthur’s chest, breaths heaving from him.

Arthur hummed in agreement and thumped his head back against the tile, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Did-“ Merlin cleared his throat.  “Did you…?”

“Yes,” Arthur said on a happy sigh.  “Apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“I hadn’t actually planned on it.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you plan on that?”

Arthur wrap his arms around Merlin’s chest, and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple. 

For you, he thought.  Because it was meant to all be for you.

“Well,” Merlin said, and covered Arthur’s arms with his own. “Consider it a bonus, then.”

For a while they sat together in the warm steaming water, Arthur stretched out with Merlin leaning back upon him, in the circle of his arms. 

The candlelight and the peace had turned Arthur’s muscles heavy and pliant.  Even his thoughts were drifting away, like a leaf upon the river.

When he felt Merlin twitch, he pulled himself from strange half dreams of walking through clouds.  “Don’t fall asleep,” he slurred out.

“Not falling asleep,” Merlin mumbled.

“Yes. You are.”

“Mmmmmno.”

Arthur pressed a cheek to Merlin’s damp hair, smiling.  Instead of arguing, he closed his eyes, relaxing once again. 

Merlin’s next twitch involved a sharp elbow, startling Arthur from the light doze he’d fallen into himself. 

The water had grown cool around them.  When Arthur dragged his hands over Merlin’s shoulders to push at him, his fingertips felt shrivelled against rough skin. “Come on…”

Merlin wiped at his face with a dripping wet hand but sat up.  “Whassis?”

“Time for bed,” Arthur told him, and climbed out of the tub.

Merlin grumbled but complied, half-heartedly drying himself with a towel before staggering naked into the bedroom. Arthur followed, legs still wobbly beneath him, glad for the faint glow of the city lights beyond the tall bedroom windows. 

“Beautiful, beautiful bed,” Merlin sighed, pulling back the covers to sprawl naked and beautiful upon the mattress.

“Move it.” Arthur dropped his hand to Merlin’s backside, his palm landing with a loud slap.

Merlin’s head snapped up, his eyes gone wide as he looked over his shoulder.

Arthur wasn’t sure whether to apologise or not, too caught by the sensation of the round flesh beneath his palm.

“Arse,” Merlin finally muttered, but he was strangely pink in the face, as he shifted to collapse face first into his pillow.

“Yes, that’s your arse.” Arthur lay down at Merlin’s side and dragged the covers over them both.  “And a very nice one, at that.”

“Did you just give me a compliment?”

Arthur rolled onto his stomach, an arm slid across Merlin’s back.  “I think you’re hallucinating.  Now go to sleep.”

“No, I heard you.  Definitely.  You said I had a nice backside.”

Arthur shifted closer to share Merlin’s pillow, and to rest his hand upon the backside in question.  “Why yes, now that you mention it.  I’d say it’s one of your better features.”

“Along with what else?”

“Your ability to be quiet and go to sleep.”

“I don’t have that ability.”

“Ssh.  I’m pretending.”

Merlin snorted into his pillow.  “Yes, my lord.”

They lay for a while together in silence, London shining beyond their windows.

“The other thing,” Arthur whispered.

“Hmm?”

Arthur nudged Merlin’s nose with the tip of his own.  “Say the other thing.”

“What other thing might that be?”

“You know very well what it is.”

“Yes, I do.”

When Merlin kept smirking at him, eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out upon pale cheeks, Arthur placed a gentle kiss on forehead.  And then another, on the bridge of his nose.  Before finishing with one last one, right at the corner of his lips.

“Please,” Arthur whispered, into the private space between them.

“My love,” Merlin sighed out, and shifted closer.

“Just as you are mine,” Arthur said in return, and fell asleep thinking of the days ahead, and the future beyond that, and a golden band upon Merlin’s finger.

 


	3. the earth and the sky

Arthur awoke on a gasp, startled from strange nightmares of skyscrapers besieging his castle while taxi cabs attacked his Lower Town.

He opened his eyes to the unforgiving daylight and the unfamiliar city, spread out beneath the grey skies, all the way to the far horizon.

With a groan he pulled the blankets over his head, resting his cheek back upon the Merlin’s back, beneath him.  Sometime during the night, he’d rolled entirely atop of Merlin.  A position Merlin never seemed to mind.  And often asked for, in fact.  

Arthur didn’t mind it.  More than he would have thought.  It was quite nice, actually, waking up with his chest upon Merlin’s strong back, legs slotted between Merlin’s warm thighs, his hips getting the best part of the situation courtesy of the ample swell of Merlin’s backside.

Yes, Arthur thought, and inhaled the deep musky smell of Merlin’s skin.  His hips definitely had the best part of it.

Pressing a kiss to Merlin’s skin, Arthur pressed his hips forward, his erection slipping like a thief into the cleft where rounded skin met rounded skin.

Merlin sighed in response, stretching sleepily beneath him, the flex of his muscles doing all sorts of wonderful things to all the places Arthur was pressed sweat slick and hot against him.

“Morning,” Arthur said, low and rough, pressing his lips to Merlin’s shoulder, his pushing forward once more, relishing the slide of his cock into that heat.

“Mmmff,” Merlin responded, clearly sleep addled but pleased, enough that his own hips pressed back in invitation.   

Arthur didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation, pressing more kisses to Merlin’s skin, fingers sliding down along his still too pronounced ribs, to finally grab hard onto a hip.

Across the room, the ring of Merlin’s mobile.

Arthur glared at it, then resumed tasting Merlin’s back. “Ignore it.”

“Could be the museum...”

 “ _Ignore_ it.”

When the damned thing kept ringing, Merlin nudged Arthur with his elbow. “I really should get that.”

“No.” Arthur shoved his arms between Merlin’s chest and the bed, angling his own hips perfectly so that- oh yes, right there…

Merlin muttered something into the sheets. 

Moments later, Arthur felt knuckles nudge at the back of his head.  When he looked up, he bumped his nose into Merlin’s hand, where he was holding his mobile to his ear.

“Hullo?” 

Arthur looked in outrage at the distant table.  “Did you just use _magic_ to-?“

“Yes, this is Merlin Hunithson.” With a grunt, Merlin lifted himself up onto his elbows. 

Arthur shoved him back down, and dropped on top of him.

 “That’s all right,” Merlin wheezed into his mobile, elbowing Arthur in the ribs.  “I wasn’t doing anything

“Yet,” Arthur murmured, and licked Merlin’s neck, because damned if he was going to let a phone call beat him for Merlin’s attentions.

But Merlin elbowed him again, and angled his neck away.  “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, you keep talking,” Arthur said, hands shoving beneath Merlin’s chest, fingertips seeking nubs of flesh, making Merlin jolt beneath him with a satisfying indrawn breath.

“Sorry,” Merlin choked out, his voice gone higher.  “What did- What was the question?”

The small voice coming from the mobile’s speaker droned on in the background, as Arthur slid his tongue along Merlin’s neck, sucking and nipping until he could flick his tongue against a ridiculous earlobe.

Merlin thumped his head against the pillow. “Look, can I-  Maybe later?  Now isn’t, you know, the best time.  To talk.”

“Something distracting you?” Arthur said, pressing his hips against the swell of Merlin’s backside, cock easing once more between the twitching of Merlin’s thighs.

“Can I-?”  Merlin cleared his throat.  “I mean- Yes, we can be there…”

Arthur rested his forehead upon Merlin’s shoulder, rutting slowly against him, shivers sliding up his spine, pulling a groan from him.

“Just text me the information please thank you!” Merlin said in a rush, then jabbed the screen and tossed his mobile to the floor.

“Please thank you,” Arthur murmured.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Shut up,” Merlin mumbled into his pillow. 

“Say it to me now.”

“I will _not_.”

“Good things happen if you ask nicely,” Arthur said, wiggling his fingers beneath the sharp jut of Merlin’s hip.

Merlin shoved his hips upward despite his irritation, allowing Arthur to do what he’d wanted, which was to take the hard length of him in hand.  “Such a prat,” Merlin choked out, already thrusting into Arthur’s grip.

Arthur would have protested the insult, but was too distracted by the slide of their bodies, and the way that his cock slipped along the tight cleft of Merlin’s backside.  “Say it,” he barely managed, barely remembering the words.

“Make me,” Merlin growled at him, and thrust hard into his hand.

“Oh I will,” Arthur promised, and then went about doing it, using all the skills that he’d learned Merlin liked over the past weeks, which was mainly stroking him as hard and as fast as he could without injury, until Merlin bucked wildly and came with a shout all over the sheets.

When Merlin collapsed to the mattress, Arthur gave quick thanks to the gods, then set about chasing his own completion, which had been growing ever closer at the writhing of Merlin’s body.  In another embarrassingly short performance, he found himself shuddering and shouting, flopping hard on Merlin’s back, hand trapped awkwardly beneath them.

“Mmmvvv,” Merlin mumbled into his pillow, and slapped at Arthur’s leg.

Arthur grunted and proceeded to lay there, until he’d got his breathing back under control.

“Arrffr…”

“All right,” Arthur mumbled, shoving off to sprawl on his back by Merlin’s side. 

They lay there in silence a few moments, their heaving breaths the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” Merlin sighed, after a while.

Arthur looked over to find Merlin smiling, cheeks pink from pressing into the pillow, black hair sticking up at all angles, lips plush and full and even now making Arthur want to kiss them.

He’s so _beautiful_ , Arthur thought.  How in the world did I miss that too?  What sort of idiot was I, to have gone all those years without noticing? 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, curious.

“I heard a thank you,” Arthur said quickly.  “But no please.”

“I’m sure I said it somewhere in there.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, I’m definitely sure.”

“All right then.”

“Good.”

Arthur chuckled up at the ceiling, grabbing a corner of the sheets to wipe himself off.  “So who was so important that I had to seduce you to get you off the phone?”

“That was you seducing me?”

“Not my best effort, granted.  I’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Or tonight.”

Arthur barked out a laugh at Merlin’s suggestive smile.  “If you’re good.”

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s pillow from beneath his head, and proceeded to wipe himself off with it. “Not much chance of that then.”

“Clearly not.”  Arthur tucked an arm behind his head, unbothered.  “So who was it, then?”

“On the mobile?  The Curator for the British Museum’s Special Exhibits.” 

“They haven’t lost your books, have they?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then what was so urgent that he called you so early in the morning?”

“What she wanted, was-”

“She?  That was a woman on the phone?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she had no idea what we were doing,” Merlin said, his tone suggesting she absolutely did, and that it was entirely Arthur’s fault.

“Of course she has no idea,” Arthur said, because the alternative was to horrifying to consider. “Why would she possibly have any idea?”

Merlin gave him one last scolding look. “Anyway… She was calling me, with it nearly going on noon by the way, to ask me a few questions about the manuscripts.”

“Let me guess.  They can’t read your handwriting.”

“No, that’s not- You are such a-“  Merlin grabbed his own pillow and hit Arthur with it. 

Arthur shoved it under his head and smirked at him. 

“They wanted to ask me about the Brittonic.  On account of my family conveniently handing down the spoken knowledge of it through the centuries.”

“Which is not suspicious at all.”

“If it is, they don’t seem much to care.”  Merlin stretched out upon the bed, pale arms reaching to the headboard, thighs flexing as he extended long muscular legs.  “We’ll have to get our tuxedos today by the way.”

Arthur found himself distracted by the daylight sliding over Merlin’s body, soft shadows moving over the dip of a collarbone, the long stretch of a leg.  “What’s that?”

“Tuxedos. For the private opening.”

“The private what?”

“The private opening I told you about at least a dozen times,” Merlin’s said irritably, very much the harried servant he’d once been, back when Arthur had tried to shirk yet another boring royal ceremony. 

“Private opening,” Arthur repeated, feigning ignorance.  “Hmm… You know, it’s not really ringing a bell…”

“Not ringing a-!  You-!  Arthur, I talked about it _the entire drive_ from Avalon!”

“You talked about several thousand things during the drive from Avalon,” Arthur told him, climbing from the bed to try and hide his smile.  “You can’t expect me to remember them all.”

Merlin stormed over to the wardrobe and yanked a hotel robe from a hanger.  “Why do you never listen to me!”

Arthur ducked an elbow as Merlin yanked on the heavy garment. “Calm down before you knock yourself out, will you?  And I was joking, incidentally.  I remember very well about your precious ceremony.”

Merlin glared as he reached past Arthur to grab the other robe.  “Very funny,” he snapped, but held up the robe for Arthur to put on, old habits likely overruling his obvious anger.

Arthur turned his back and held out his arms, and heard Merlin grumble ‘giant prat’ as he shoved the robe roughly onto his shoulders.

“I heard that,” Arthur said, as Merlin stepped around to face him.

“Good, so I won’t have to say it again.”

“It would pain you greatly to repeat it, I’m sure.”

Merlin snorted, his expression stormy, as he carefully tied Arthur’s belt, then fussed at the lay of it with careful fingers.

Arthur watched him in silence, reminded of those days Merlin had prepared him for court.  Merlin had always seen to him like this, hadn’t he.  Each brush of his fingers filled with affection.  Each touch a new vow of devotion.

Stupid of me, Arthur thought.  To miss it back in Camelot.  The worth of the man before him.  The exceptional man that he was.  He was more the idiot than Merlin had ever been.  To miss something so precious, there before his eyes.

When Merlin moved to step away, Arthur caught his hands. “This private ceremony of yours... It won’t delay our trip to Italy, will it?”

“Only for a day or two.  Why?  If you don’t want to go-“

“That’s not it.  And I don’t mind.  The ceremony, I mean.  I just… I know how much you want to get to Italy.  I don’t want anything standing in the way of your dream.”  Arthur slid his thumbs over Merlin’s knuckles.  “You’ve already waited so long.  I don’t want you to wait any more.”

Merlin’s lips parted, but he didn’t respond. He just stood there, glassy-eyed, his breaths growing increasingly louder and faster, an all too familiar distress overcoming him.

Arthur stepped forward at once and pulled Merlin into his arms.

Merlin grunted out a protest, but pressed a shaking hand to Arthur’s neck over his pulse.

“Breathe,” Arthur whispered into his ear.

“M all right,” Merlin murmured against Arthur’s shoulder.

“Of course you are.”

Merlin shifted in Arthur’s arms. “It just…”  He cleared his throat.  Started again.  “It just still hits me.  Sometimes.  That you’re here.  That _we’re_ here.  That we’re… And in London…”

“I know.”

“You don’t,” Merlin whispered.  “You really, really don’t...”

“And what is it that I don’t know?”

“That you’re here.”

Arthur smiled against Merlin’s cheek. “I’m relatively sure I do know that.”

“No, I meant… That you’re here… with me.   _With me_ , with me.”

Oh, Arthur thought.  Oh…

“Being stupid,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur lifted his hands to cup the sides of Merlin’s face, tipping up his head so they could look properly at one another. 

But Merlin looked away, though not quickly enough to hide the moisture sparkling in his eyes, or the paths the tears had left down his cheeks. “I know,” he mumbled.  “I’m a weepy princess.”

“You’re not a weepy princess.”

“An idiot, then.”

“You’re not a weepy princess, and you’re not an idiot.  You’re my friend and my partner and my lover, gods help me, and besides all of that, you’re _mine_ , and I intend to keep you for as long as the forces of magic will allow.  So if you don’t mind, I’ll be the one who decides what names to call you, since clearly you’re complete rubbish at choosing them yourself.”

Merlin’s looked stunned by the outburst, and confused as well, as if he were waiting some punchline, or some sarcastic dismissal.

It was painful to behold.  Because it meant Merlin honestly didn’t realise.  All he was.  All he meant.

Arthur closed his eyes and ducked his head, feeling Merlin’s black hair tickle his skin, and words of forever pressing against his own lips. 

But the room was too full of the past.  And Merlin’s expression too full of pain.  He couldn’t ask the question yet.  Not even to reassure Merlin of how he truly felt.  Not here.  Not now.

“So,” Arthur forced out. “These tuxedos.  Where do we get them?”

Merlin visibly collected himself, dragging a palm over his eyes before stepping away. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Well.  No matter.  William can help us.  Or perhaps one of his servants.”

“Employees,” Merlin said, with the predictable irritation Arthur had hoped for.

“Employees, servants, what does it matter,” Arthur said, in tones of put-upon nobility. “Now get moving.  We need breakfast before this tuxedo nonsense.  When we’re done, we’ll go directly to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich.  I want to see that telescope you mentioned.”

“I mention the private opening ten times and you forget about it, but I mention space once-“

“That’s because it’s space, Merlin.”

Merlin gave him one of those looks, thoughtful and surprised, a favourite of his when his king did something he hadn’t anticipated during his long wait. “You really are such a nerd, aren’t you.”

Arthur had a disorienting moment when Merlin’s translation spell presented him with all manner of visuals.  One of them was of his childhood tutor who studied old runes for fun.  The man had possessed a constellation of warts on his cheeks.  “I am not a nerd,” he insisted, the word sounding strangely nasal and ridiculous.

“Oh, as if you know what that means.”

“Of course I know,” Arthur lied, and started toward the washroom.

“What does it mean then?”

“It means you’re the one getting us breakfast, because you’ve clearly just insulted me.”

“Oh come on-“

“Now.” 

“Yes, sire, whatever you say, sire.”

The insolent tone had Arthur glancing round, to find Merlin standing with hands on his hips and robe hanging open, his pale chest and muscled abdomen and thick cock all on display.

Pain shot up Arthur’s knee as he walked straight into the bedroom desk, knocking its chair hard to the floor, then almost falling over it himself.

Merlin’s laughter echoed in Arthur’s ears as he picked up the chair up and shoved it under the desk by the washroom.  “Idiotic place for a desk,” he snapped.  “Why the hell is there so much furniture in here?”

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said-“ Arthur looked back, and discovered Merlin standing with his robe held wide open, hips shifting side to side, muscles tensing and cock moving and all at once Arthur found himself overcome by the startling urge to drop to his knees and bury his face in the heat of him.

“Did you want something, my lord?” Merlin asked, mocking enough that Arthur’s face flushed and he stormed off toward the washroom.

“Breakfast!” he shouted over his shoulder, his gaze seeking Merlin’s hips once more, distracting him just enough so that his shoulder slammed into the doorframe, and he nearly fell into the tub as he slammed the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I told you he could help us,” Arthur said, as William hurried away from his desk, already beckoning to nearby staff.

“A tailor shop in the hotel,” Merlin said. “Huh.  Well, of course there would be, right?  God forbid spoiled royalty should have to leave the building to get their clothes.”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Arthur asked, mindful of the well dressed people mingling among the uniformed soldiers nearby. “And we really should get more formal clothes to wear here.  Just look at us.”

“What’s wrong with this?” Merlin asked, glancing down at his ratty brown jacket, his rumpled black t-shirt, his overly tight blue jeans, and his trainers covered in mud from the Thames.

“How do you still have the same horrible taste in clothes after all this time?”

“Hard work, I suppose,” Merlin said, and sat upon the edge of William’s desk. 

Arthur elbowed him. “Get up.  Have you no manners?” 

“Lost them up somewhere in the twentieth century.”

“Perhaps you should find them again,” Arthur said, watching a little boy and girl entertaining themselves by the edge of the pond.  The boy was flicking bits of rock into the water, the girl knelt down beside it, a hand shoved into the water.

Arthur felt Merlin twitching against his side, and wondered when they’d moved so close. Was it appropriate to stand so close in modern society?  He had no idea.  Though in truth, he honestly didn’t care.

“Not right,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur nudged him. “Go on.”

“Go on what?”

“You want to rescue your watery friends from those highly suspicious children.”

Merlin gave him a suspicious look of his own. “Are you _sure_ you aren’t able to hear my thoughts?”

“I don’t need to hear your thoughts to know the sorts of things rattling around that empty head of yours.”

“Empty? Well, I-“  A squeal had Merlin flinch, then glare over at the pond.

“Go,” Arthur drawled out, and shoved him forward.

As he stalked across the lobby, Arthur crossed his arms and sat down on William’s desk, getting ready for the show.

But instead of yelling like the old man he was, Merlin knelt down and smiled like the young man he wasn’t, speaking quite seriously to the little boy and girl, as if they were small adults.

And because Merlin was Merlin, the children were convinced to behave themselves at once, even kneeling carefully at Merlin’s sides, to bend forward with him and study the fish.

“Lord Pendragon?”

Arthur jolted to his feet, knocking several papers to the floor.  “What news, William,” he asked quickly, once he’d retrieved the fallen items. 

William glanced at the spot where Arthur had seated himself upon his desk. “All is in readiness.  My lord.  The hotel tailors stand to assist.”

“Excellent, excellent. We are very grateful indeed for your generous-“

A squeal of laughter echoed through the lobby, turning Arthur back to the pond, to discover that a small group of children and adults now stood gathered, watching whatever nonsense Merlin had got up to.

“A moment, William,” Arthur said absently, and went to join them at the pond.

The fish, for some odd reason, had all grouped themselves by colour, and were staring up at Merlin, like a bizarre military aquatic regiment.   

“Just once more,” Merlin said, and held his hand flat over the water.

Before Arthur could protest, the enormous white fish launched itself into the air, sailed over Merlin’s hand, and landed with a splash.

“Again!” squealed a little girl, clapping almost as enthusiastically as some of the smiling adults.

“I think George needs his rest,” Merlin told her, and climbed to his feet.  “Maybe later, yeah?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said sweetly, and none too subtly pulled Merlin away by the back of his jacket.

“What’s your problem?” Merlin asked curiously, once everyone had disbursed.

“Do you honestly not remember what I told you about not drawing attention?”

“It wasn’t my fault everybody got so interested.”

“Yes.  Imagine that.  People getting interested in a display of magic-”

“It wasn’t magic.  Well.  Not really.  It was just us having a bit of fun.”

“I can’t tell if by ‘us’ you mean you and the children, or you and the fish.”

“Both, actually.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Arthur said, and turned to go find William, only to discover the old man was right behind them. 

William’s thin white eyebrows were pulled together, his lips pressed tight on what Arthur suspected was a litany of questions. 

“So,” Arthur said quickly. “Shall we to the tailors?”

The old man hesitated, then nodded, and lead them from the lobby.

After they’d fallen a few steps behind, Arthur shoved an elbow into Merlin’s side.

“What?” Merlin asked. 

“Will you at least try to be more subtle?”

 “What are you talking about?  Subtle is my middle name.”

“You don’t have a middle name.”

“Of course I do.  I mean, I think I do.  I did at one time, anyway.  Maybe the eighteenth century?”

“Which is of course a period of time you couldn’t possibly recall,” Arthur said firmly, and tilted his head toward William’s back.

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sure.  Whatever you say.”

“Utter lack of self preservation...” Arthur mumbled. 

“What’s that?”

“I said, ‘what a lovely ornamentation.”

“What, the marble?  Yeah, I suppose so.”  Merlin patted the marble archway they passed, then peered over William’s head down the long hallway ahead.  “Cor, what do they have in this place?”

“Everything it seems,” Arthur said, looking from the shops that lined one side, to the windows that lined the other.  Beyond the fogged glass, he thought he saw a rectangular body of water, which made no sense at all.

“I _knew_ there’d be a pool!” Merlin said. 

“The pool is a part of the hotel’s many exercise facilities,” William said.  “All of which stand ready for my lords’ use.”

Arthur walked closer to the next set of windows, and saw men boxing together.  The next room was even more interesting, people dressed in white uniforms, actually sparring together with odd needle thin swords. “Are they-?”

“What’s that smell?” Merlin interrupted, licking his lips as he sniffed the air.  “Is there a bakery stuffed in here somewhere?”

“The smell of fresh bread baking,” William said, “is courtesy of the Patisserie du Royal, our five-star in-house artisanal breads and confections provider.”

“A bakery,” Merlin said. 

Arthur swatted the back of Merlin’s head, fingertips barely brushing his hair, only proving to himself how far gone he was on the man.

Merlin gave him a sour look, and stuck out his tongue.

“So William,” Arthur said, before his ridiculous sorcerer could misbehave any further, “what should we know about these tuxedo tailors?”

“The Hotel Royale’s team of expert tailors have all apprenticed at the oldest and most reputable establishments on Savile Row.”

“Savile Row,” Arthur repeated.  “Yes.  Of course. Most impressive.”

Merlin coughed into his hand, barely disguising his laughter. 

Arthur lowered his voice.  “Will you control yourself?”

“It’s just really so amazing how you can sound like you know what you’re talking about, when I know you have no idea.”

“Did you honestly never realise I did that in Camelot?” Arthur asked in a low voice.

Merlin looked at him, shocked.

“Occasionally,” Arthur amended.  “Almost never, actually.”

Merlin burst out laughing, earning another odd look from William, though the man held his silence as they walked down the hallway.

At its end was what looked like an outdoor wooden storefront.  Broad glass windows stretched on either side of the wooden door, faceless statues wearing suits just behind them, along with a dizzying array of clothing laid out for public view.

When William pushed open the door for them, Arthur found himself stepping into what looked like an ornate living space, fit for royalty.

Dark wood panels stretched floor to ceiling, upon which had been set rows of colourful ties and shelves full of black hats, filling the air with the scent of fresh linen.  Paintings of royalty stared down at him everywhere he looked, none more imposing or noticeable than the stern white haired woman in a crown above the marble fireplace.  Several men and women in formal black clothing were assembled there, shoulder to shoulder, all looking at him.

“Good afternoon,” Arthur said, more tentatively than he intended.

His response was a whirlwind of introductions, people fussing over him and Merlin both, and calling them “my lord”, much to Merlin’s irritation. In short order, he was lead into a dressing room, onto a low platform within a three-mirrored alcove.  Four men accompanied him: one sitting down with his notepad on his lap in a corner chair, writing down instructions called to him by two others who were selecting bolts of fabric, and with the last and youngest man hurrying over to offer him a silver tray full of deserts and drinks.

From next door he heard Merlin raise his voice, loud and clear over the dividing wall between the rooms, via the small gap near the ceiling.

“I told you, I’m not a lord!”

Arthur choked on his water, and had to clear his throat.  “Stop harassing the staff.”

“I will when they stop calling me a lord!”

Arthur tried to share a smile with an old man who hobbled toward him, his arms full of fabrics, all in different shades of black.  For some minutes the man went on about weaves and thread count, while Arthur stared helplessly at it all, so unable to see a difference between any of them, that he began to ponder ways of escape.

Perhaps feigning illness?  A coward’s way out, to be sure.  But good lord, the man was bringing over yet another selection of fabrics, all of them still in black-

“Everything all right in there?” Merlin called.

“Absolutely, yes, of course.  We’re just reviewing the many, many, many fine fabrics available.  They’re all so extraordinary, in fact, that I’m quite unable to choose between them.”

“Would you care for some assistance, my lord?”

Arthur was too relieved to do anything but smile.  “An excellent suggestion, Merlin.  Gentlemen, please, take these matters to Lord Hunithson.  He’s very good with fabrics.   Dresses in particular.”

“That was one time!” Merlin yelled.

“It was four times!”

“It wasn’t more than _three_.”

“It was _definitely_ four,” Arthur said, and beckoned to the young man holding the drinks tray.

“No it _wasn’t_.”

Arthur picked up a glass of wine.  “Are you counting that incident with the _Dolma_?”

Silence from the other room.

Arthur mouthed the word “four” to his tailors, holding up four wiggling fingers to his smiling audience of tailors.

“ _Arse_ ,” Merlin said loudly.

“Insolence,” Arthur said, not even trying to sound severe, because the besotted smile upon his reflection told him that was a battle already lost.

For a while the two tailors posed him and measured him, their actions surprisingly similar to what he remembered from long go.  Only when one of them knelt by his feet, his measuring tape going snug around an ankle, did Arthur interrupt. “I trust the actual clothing won’t be that tight.”

The older tailor paused and looked up.  “Does my lord wish a more traditional fit?”

“If by that you mean not indecently tight, then yes.” Arthur glanced over at the row of mannequins in their plain black outfits. “Like that one, third from the left.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And there truly are no other options that aren’t so… monochrome?”

“Perhaps my lord would enjoy a touch of colour in his ensemble?”

“More colour, yes.  Some red, perhaps. Nothing bright, mind you.  Something noble. Incorporating a dragon.”

“Now who’s harassing them?” came Merlin’s voice.

Arthur looked down at the tailor and cocked an eyebrow.

The tailor nodded, and gestured for the note taker to write it down.

“If you want colour,” Merlin called, “then pick out a feathery hat to wear with your tuxedo.”

“That’s your specialty, not mine.” Arthur beckoned to the man holding the tray of scones. “I don’t suppose you saved that very special hat I gave you long ago, did you?”

“It was burned in an unfortunate accident!”

“Tragic, simply tragic.” Arthur glanced at the man pressing a measuring tape to his back.  “Not too tight across the shoulders.  I need to be able to move my arms.”

“You won’t have to swing a sword, Arthur.  You just have to stand there with me.”

Arthur glanced back at the mannequins, picturing Merlin in the most form fitting of all the tuxedos.  Likely the style Merlin would choose, and _oh_ what a sight that would be.  Black fabric like midnight against Merlin’s pale skin, white shirt pulled taut across his broad chest, trousers tight and straining upon his-

“Please try not to move, Lord Pendragon,” the old tailor said. 

Arthur nodded his reply, reciting Camelot’s rivers in his head, to clear his mind and cool his blood.

The tailors finished with him well before Merlin, which was entirely unsurprising, giving the amount of arguing Arthur had heard from next door.  He occupied himself by wandering through the shop, dragging fingertips over fabrics, until a very harried pair of tailors exited Merlin’s room. 

As they were consulting with others standing nearby, Arthur wandered over, idly watching as they laid out two photos of men in suits next to one another, and began discussing fabrics and alterations.

“Which one of those is to be ours?” Arthur asked.

“This one is for Lord Hunithson,” the young man said, pointing to the more simple outfit.  “And the other is to be yours, Lord Pendragon.”

“Why do they look so different?”

“Lord- Mister- Hunithson,” the man stammered out, “requested something to reflect your statuses, my lord.”

“Absolutely not.”  He shoved the photo of Merlin’s plain tuxedo away, and pulled the other one into the centre of the table.  “We shall both wear this one.”

“But Lord- Mister- Hunithson-“

“Is the last to acknowledge his own worth,” Arthur informed him.  “So there should be not one single hint of differentiation in our apparel.  Am I making myself clear?”

Without a word of protest, the tailors returned their attention to the table, notebooks out, consulting on the changes needed.

A motion at his side had Arthur glance over, to find Merlin there, looking rather stunned.

“Really, Merlin,” Arthur scolded. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Arthur.”

“Why not?”

Merlin moved to his side and spoke with a lowered voice. “If our outfits are exactly the same… People are going to think things.”

“What things?”

“About us.  Together.”

Merlin had glanced at the tailors, his mouth twitching.  Nervous, Arthur thought.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Arthur pressed.

“Me?  Of course not.  Why should I have a problem?”

“Then what is it?” 

Merlin shook his head and looked away, frowning at the dour portrait of the Queen. “It’s not important.” 

The blatant lie had Arthur’s anger flaring, fuelled by the long years of Merlin deceiving him, and by habits he’d thought they’d left behind.

“Are we quite finished?” he snapped at the tailors.

A flurry of apologies was his immediate response, followed by promises of quality and speed, as they dogged his heels into the hall.

Arthur left Merlin to deal with them, striding away briskly, his temper barely under control.   When Merlin caught him up down the hallway, Arthur held up a hand. “Don’t even start.”

“Don’t even start about which thing?” Merlin demanded, matching him stride for stride.  “Your lack of gratitude?  Your bad manners? Or how you made one of them cry?”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“I’m not exaggerating.  I saw tears.  Or at least the start of them.  And that old man looked old enough to have survived the blitz!  Seriously, Arthur, if you want to take someone’s head off-“

“Yours comes to mind at the moment-“

“Me?  What did I do?”

“You with your- your-“ Arthur clamped his jaw shut and waved a hand over his shoulder, not wanting to let the words begin, because he wouldn’t know how to make them stop.”

“If this is about the suits, I was only trying to get you to understand that-”

“I don’t need your help!“ 

Merlin stopped walking.

Arthur did the same, angry and confused, wondering what in the hell he was doing.

It’s this place, Arthur thought.  Those men in the shop, dressing him like royalty. The staff in the hotel, acting like servants.  It had past overlapping with present in all the wrong ways.  Pulling him backward, when he ought to be moving forward.  Dragging Merlin backward with him.

“Our clothing,” Arthur said to the floor, “should be the same.  Because we stand together, Merlin.   Side by side.  As we should have done in the past.  As _equals_.”

For a while, only silence in response.

And then Merlin moved to his side, slope shouldered and sighing, a hand shoved into his jacket pocket, obviously clutching something there.

“Still keeping it safe?” Arthur asked softly, realizing what it was.

Merlin shifted uneasily, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Good,” Arthur said softly, and set his hand upon Merlin’s wrist, fingertips soothing away Merlin’s doubts, as his blue eyed gaze lifted to his own.

“So,” Merlin said, soft and shy.  “The telescope then?”

“Please,” Arthur said, and let Merlin lead him from the hotel.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Outside it was warm but windy, puffy clouds hiding and revealing the sun as Arthur shielded his mobile screen in an attempt to decipher the map displayed upon it.

“Tell me again why we’re not using hotel’s private car service?” Merlin asked.

“The people of this city survived aerial bombings in the Underground,” Arthur informed him.  “Any structure that can withstand such an onslaught is something I want to see.  We certainly could have used building techniques like those in Camelot.”

Merlin gave a tight smile at a young couple passing by.  “Could you lower your voice when you say things like that?”

Arthur poked at his screen.  “No.”

“I’m just saying-“

“No.”

Merlin’s sigh was loud enough to be heard over a passing bus. 

“Waterloo Station,” Arthur announced. “That’s the one we need.”

“Which is where, exactly?”

Arthur pressed a button on his mobile and lifted it to his mouth.  “Show us how to get to Waterloo Station.”

“That only works for roads.  You can’t just tell it to-“

“Proceed down Belvedere Road,” said a posh female voice from the mobile, “and make the first right, onto Chicheley Street.”

Arthur gave him a victorious grin.

“I had no idea it could do that for walking,” Merlin said, and peered at the screen.

“Did you ever actually use your old mobile?”

“Yes, I did, of course I did, all the time, for phone calls and for texting, like a civilized person.”

“Like an old person, you mean,” Arthur told him, and started down the street.

“People these days can’t even use a damned map…”

“You’re only proving my point about you being an old man, saying things like that.”

“I am an old man, but that doesn’t mean people shouldn’t learn how to walk place to place without their mobiles telling them where to go every step of the way.”

“In fifteen feet,” the woman’s voice said, “make the next right onto Chicheley Street.”

“See that’s just weird,” Merlin said.  “How does it know exactly where we are anyway?  I mean, I know there’s satellites, but fifteen feet?  Exactly?  It’s just unnerving.”

“More unnerving than you starting fires with your thoughts?” Arthur asked, causing a businessman walking by to look at them strangely.

“Arthur, will you please lower-?”

“No,” Arthur drawled out.

“You may now turn right,” said the posh woman’s voice, “onto Chicheley Street.”

“Thank you,” Arthur told it sweetly, just to drive Merlin round the bend.

“Going to throw that thing in the Thames,” Merlin mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“Oh nothing, nothing.”

“I thought so,” Arthur said, but just to be safe, moved his mobile out of Merlin’s reach.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 Waterloo Station was a world unto itself.  Enclosed under a cavernous white-beamed and glass roof, its tall white tile walls echoed with the voices of hundreds of people walking in every direction. 

Arthur watched them in amazement, wondering how anyone knew where they hell they were going, in this chaos of computer screens and stairways and signs.

“I don’t suppose your mobile knows where to go now,” Merlin said, not quite hiding how dazed he was himself. 

Arthur had no doubt Merlin was mocking him.  But he pulled out his mobile anyway. “Tell us how on earth we get from Waterloo Station to Greenwich on the Underground.”

“From Waterloo Station,” said the posh female voice, “take the Jubilee Line, to Greenwich Station.”

Arthur gave Merlin a triumphant grin. “You see?  And over there’s the sign for the Underground.  Come along, Merlin.”

Merlin grumbled all the way to the moving stairs, almost walking into Arthur’s back when he paused at their top.  After watching the steps unfold from the floor, Arthur strode forward, briefly losing his balance when half the step vanished under his foot. 

“To the right!” called a voice from behind.

Arthur shifted to the side, allowing a man to march down the already moving steps, with several others behind. “Have people no patience?” he asked Merlin over his shoulder.  “We’re already moving.”

“Apparently not fast enough.”

Arthur dodged a woman’s enormous handbag, only to get his foot stepped on as she passed. “My father never would have tolerated this.”

“Your father would have said this was all sorcery and then stabbed everyone in sight.”

“He’s joking,” Arthur told the woman behind Merlin, who was looking worried.

“I’m not wrong though,” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur watched the stairs folding into the floor down below.  “No,” he agreed.  “You’re not wrong.”

The stairs descended into a bright series of wide, interconnecting halls filled with people. Conversations and footsteps echoed from the white tile, as Arthur walked close to Merlin’s side, moving with the crowd into an even larger open area.  It was blocked by a row of narrow aisles, metal bars in front of them, people in queues passing through.

“An Oyster Card,” Arthur said sometime later, as he and Merlin followed a uniformed guard over to a machine in the wall.  “What an odd name for a transportation permit.”

“Maybe it was invented by someone named Oyster,” Merlin said over his shoulder, then fell back into cheerful conversation with the Underground employee.

The employee reacted as most people did to Merlin, which was relaxed and with an easy laugh, even doing most of the work to buy the travel permits the apparently needed.  When they parted ways, Merlin shook his hand, and gave a jaunty salute with the tube map and two Oyster cars.

“We need the Jubilee Line,” Merlin said, after they’d made it through the turnstiles.

The crowds had become more chaotic here, the hallway wider with tunnels branching off in several directions.

“This way, I see a sign,” Merlin said, striding with purpose down the hall. 

Arthur followed him around the next corner, to yet another set of moving stairs leading them even deeper into the earth.  This time Arthur had no problem keeping pace with the crowd, even sparing a glance up at the tiled ceiling as he stepped upon the escalator.

“No wonder they survived the bombing,” Arthur said.  “I can’t even imagine how deep we are in the earth.”

“Very deep,” Merlin muttered behind him.

“What’s that?”

Merlin shook his head, looking up with a worried look upon his face.

When they reached the level below, they found themselves in a small vestibule.  There were exits to the left and the right.  And two signs on the wall before them.  Both marked Jubilee Line.  

“Which one do we choose?” Arthur asked.

Merlin held up his map, and frowned at it.

“The sign on the left says Greenwich,” Arthur noted.

“So does the sign on the right.”

“So which way is it?  Or doesn’t it matter?”

“I’m… not actually sure.”

A man knocked into Arthur’s shoulder, sending him off balance.  He glared at the man’s back but held his place, hands clenching at his sides, strangling back a lifetime of royal upbringing.  “Any time, Merlin…”

“Right, right, just… Let me try something…”  Merlin ducked his head, eyes closed.

Arthur gave a passing woman a tight lipped grin, moving aside for her and her children to pass. 

Beside him, Merlin gasped, loud enough to echo in the small space.  He staggered forward, palms pressed to the wall. 

Arthur watched him duck his head and swallow hard, breaths heaving, as if trying not to be sick.  “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine,” Merlin choked out. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing.”  Merlin straightened and flung an arm toward the right.  “It’s that way.”

“Merlin-“

“I’m fine,” Merlin snapped, and vanished around the corner.

Arthur followed him onto a concrete platform that extended into a tunnel.  White light shone down from the ceiling, sharp and unnatural upon the circular tunnel tile, a stark contrast to the inky black exits at its ends. 

In the distance, Arthur heard a growing roar, and the scraping of metal upon metal. A train, he realised, only seconds before it roared from the tunnel.

Arthur stepped back out of reflex, pulling Merlin along with him, his hair whipping in the acrid breeze.  He could feel the train’s engines thundering in his chest, and its passing shaking the floor beneath him, but he couldn’t help the astonishment he felt, at this monstrosity of the modern age, horrible and beautiful all at once, a perfect testament to the modern age.

With a final deafening screech, the train slowed to a stop.  The moment the doors opened, the crowd pushed forward. 

“Come on,” Arthur said, and pulled Merlin into the train.

Windows lined the train car, seats stretching along them, occupied by people disinterested in the newcomers flooding in.

“Over here,” Arthur said, moving to stand by one of metal poles, just like others were doing.

“But there’s seats free over there-”

Arthur caught Merlin’s arm.  “Leave them for people less capable of standing.”

“Less capable than you, maybe,” Merlin said, and grabbed the pole so tightly that his knuckles turned as ashen as the rest of his face had gone.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Merlin.  You look awful.”

“Thanks, so do you.”

“That’s not what-“  Arthur startled as the doors slid closed, then staggered as they started to move.

The drastic acceleration was unmistakable, lights flashing faster past the windows, as the floor vibrated up through Arthur’s legs.  The entire train car was shaking, metal screeching and complaining, as if about to tear itself to pieces.

It was _nothing_ like Merlin’s car.  It was wild, and dangerous, like galloping at night through unfamiliar landscape, hardly safe and barely sane. 

Arthur found himself laughing as the train rounded a corner, marvelling at the curve of the cars down the tunnel ahead.  No one else seemed to notice, or perhaps they didn’t care, most of them staring down at their mobiles- some even sleeping- entirely unfazed by what was happening.

How long would it be, until he was just like them?  Until the miracle of the experience was something he could ignore? 

He turned to ask Merlin, to see what he thought.

But Merlin had ducked his head, his forehead pressed to the pole, his fingers white where he gripped it for support.

 Arthur set a hand upon his back. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin shook his head and then grimaced, as if fighting not to be sick.

“Is it the motion?  Is it making you ill?”

“I just- I can’t-“ Merlin thumped his forehead against the pole.  “The metal and- it’s all dead and- I can’t- I can’t-“  He shuddered. “So _cold_ …”

Arthur glanced around, because light had appeared beyond the windows, and the hum of the engine was diminishing.  Above them, a voice announced a station name that he ignored, in favour of getting an arm around Merlin’s back. 

“Come on,” Arthur told him.  “We’re getting out.”

“What?  No, this isn’t-  But Greenwich-“

“Can wait,” Arthur said, and hauled Merlin to the opening doors.

Even though exiting the station was far easier than finding their way in, Arthur struggled along behind the crowd, hauling Merlin along with an arm round his back, Merlin stumbling along like a drunk beside him.  He kept his head ducked and grimaced the whole way, eyes often squeezing closed and lips pressing thin as if trying not to be sick.

When finally they reached the last set of seemingly endless stairs, Arthur looked up into blessed daylight shining down from the street level above.  “Look, Merlin, we’re nearly there.”

Merlin lifted his head and blinked up at the sky, relief parting his lips with a shaking breath. 

“That’s it, come on,” Arthur said, and hauled Merlin up the last few steps, onto the pavement above.  Across the street stood the massive clock tower.  The spires of Parliament beside it.

Arthur found himself clinging to the back of Merlin’s shirt, rather breathless from the exertion. “It was a good idea we left the train after all.  You had us travelling the wrong direction.”

Merlin didn’t respond to the taunt.  Just kept standing by Arthur’s side, leaning heavily against him, staring up at the clock tower as if he didn’t know what it was.  He was still deathly pale, even his lips a chalky white.

What had he said in the tunnel?  Cold and dead…

Arthur pulled out his mobile. “Guide us to the nearest park.”

“Park?” Merlin repeated.  “You want to go to a park?”

“Yes, I fancy a stroll,” Arthur told him, and pulled him stumbling along, down crowded pavements and across streets, blindly following the directions given by the woman’s voice from his mobile. 

When they turned a corner and Arthur spotted St. James Park, it was as welcome as the spires of Camelot after a long ride.  Merlin’s response was immediate and obvious, his eyes going wide and round, staring at the trees and grass and lake like a starved man at a banquet.

Arthur headed straight onto the lawns, ignoring the low metal gating lining the walkways, heading toward a particularly thick grove of trees he spotted by the water.

“Not supposed to walk on the grass,“ Merlin mumbled.

“I’m the king, Merlin, I can do what I damn well want.”  Together Arthur lead him across the lush grasses, towards a grove of trees and shrubs. “Under here,” he said, ducking with Merlin beneath low branches, then stumbling together over low shrubs, until they reached a secluded grass covered area, in the midst of a circle of dogwood trees. 

Merlin pulled away and dropped at once to his knees, leaning forward to press his palms to the ground, pale fingers sliding through the grass.  A small moan passed his lips as he lowered himself further, stretching out fully on his stomach on the grass, his nose pressed to the earth, taking deep heaving breaths of it.

Arthur checked to make sure no one could see them over the rhododendrons. “We should be all right here,” he said, and sat down by Merlin’s side. 

Merlin didn’t reply, too busy whispering secrets to the grass, making promises to the worms, his fingertips caressing the green blades of grass, intimate as ever they touched one another. 

Arthur watched him roll slowly onto his back, smiling to himself now, his arms sweeping over the earth.  In the wake of his touch, violets and buttercups lifted from the grass, small and beautiful.

When Merlin sighed, a breeze rose to rustle the rhododendron leaves nearby, next year’s flower buds swelling and unfurling, flowers of red and white filling the bushes. 

Something tickled Arthur’s cheek, and he looked up to see a branch dipping low, bark thickening upon it as dozens of dogwood flowers burst to life.  He reached up to touch the unfurling leaves, and a dozen blue butterflies fluttered into the air from where they’d been hiding in the greenery.

The world fell into silence.  Only the whispering of the rhododendron leaves and the sighs of the dogwood branches remained. The city sounds had gone, shut out by the shelter of the greenery, permitting in only the dappled sunlight dotting Merlin’s face.

Merlin tilted his head to the side, his sharp cheek pressed to the grass.  His dark eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin, flowers seeming to actually reach to his presence, the way all of nature was giving him comfort, here in this peaceful place.

Arthur could only stare at it all, utterly speechless, his breath caught in his chest. 

He ached to touch Merlin, to comfort him. But he forced himself to wait.  Letting Merlin slowly recover, a blissful smile upon his lips as he nuzzled the grass.

After giving a long, luxurious sigh, Merlin finally opened his eyes.  Fading gold danced there a moment, echoing the sunlight above.  But then he blinked, and the dancing light faded, though it didn’t take away his smile, drunken and soft, as if he’d had too much wine.

Arthur brushed a few wayward blades of grass from Merlin’s hair.  “Feeling better?”

Merlin nodded, and stretched on the ground.  Midway through the motion, he went still, his dark brows pulling together, his smile fading slowly away, replaced at first with disorientation, and then-

“Easy,” Arthur said, catching Merlin by the shoulder as he sat up in alarm.

Merlin looked at the rhododendrons, the dogwoods, the flower filled grass.  With a groan he pressed his hands to his face, and flopped to the ground.

“So let’s try this again,” Arthur said.  “What happened?”

“I tried not to be useless, is what happened,” Merlin grumbled, and started to get up. 

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and sat him down. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“Arthur, I’m fine-“

“Will you stop _lying_ to me.”

Merlin winced, and dropped his gaze, old pain pulling lines into his face. 

“I didn’t…”  Arthur ran a hand through his hair.  “I just meant…”

“Yeah, I know.” 

Arthur shook his head at them both.  It was no use, both of them falling into their old habits. “Merlin...”  He set his hand upon Merlin’s forearm.  “Just… tell me.”

Either his tone, or his touch, had Merlin’s shoulders finally slumping.  “I tried to see the path ahead.”

“Using magic.”

“Yes.”

“And… you couldn’t?”

“I could.  That was the problem. There was just so much to see.  When I tried to look down all the possible paths ahead… It was like falling into a maze with a thousand paths… People moving through it in every direction like a hive of ants… Only through hollows gouged out of the heart of the earth... I can still feel it.  Right under us.  All that chaos and technology.  Sharp and cold and artificial and dead, where there should be warmth and life and the song of the earth-”

“Take it easy,” Arthur urged, because Merlin had gone pale again.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin snapped.

Arthur gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle nudge. 

Merlin lost his balance, flailed his arms, but still collapsed sideways to the ground.

“Fine, you said?”

“Shut up,” Merlin mumbled into the grass.

When he tried to get up, Arthur pressed a hand to his back and held him down.  “Will you just lay still a moment and let yourself recover?”

Merlin collapsed upon the grass, grumbling, but did as Arthur asked.  For a while he lay there, nose pressed into the lawns. Then, after a deep breath, he rolled over onto his back, one arm draped across his face.

Arthur brushed his fingertips over the flowers surrounding them.  “I’m sure it will get easier, eventually.”

“Yeah?   Which part?”

“All of it.”

Merlin dropped his arm to the grass to look at him.  “Are you talking about me or you?”

“Why would I be talking about me?  I’m already entirely adjusted to everything without a single difficulty at all.  I’m even thinking of starting my own technology business.”

Merlin choked out a laugh.  After another sigh, he slowly sat up.

The movement disturbed a group of butterflies in the nearby rhododendron.  Two of the small creatures came to rest upon Merlin’s shoulder, two more upon his hair.  He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, instead holding out a hand to three others.

Arthur watched the butterflies alight upon Merlin’s fingertips, wings opening and closing as if to please him. 

“Shut up,” Merlin muttered, when he’d glanced up and seen Arthur’s smile.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“It’s not my fault butterflies like me.”

“Of course not.”

“It’s just that they have good taste.  Which is more than I can say for-“

“You have butterflies on your forehead,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin looked up, going cross eyed.  Then he shook his head, setting the small creatures flying.

Arthur suppressed a smirk, because Merlin still had two butterflies upon his shoulder. “You really do have a thing for butterflies and flowers, don’t you.”

“It’s not like I did this on purpose.”

“I know, which is why I’m saying that you clearly have a thing for butterflies and flowers.”

Merlin lifted his palm to nose level, smiling rather reluctantly at butterflies sitting there, their wings opening and closing. 

Arthur found himself staring, as they sat there together in the flowering grotto.  Beautiful, he thought again.  It should be strange to think it of a man.  Especially of Merlin, who could be odd looking at times with his sharp angular face.  And yet it was true. He was truly beautiful.  Like a storm over the moonlit sea. 

Merlin glanced over, and his expression shifted, first into surprise, then into something ridiculously fond, obviously seeing whatever love-struck expression was on his king’s face.

“You’re talking to them, aren’t you,” Arthur said, to distract Merlin from the flush he could feel heating his face. 

“What?  No, I’m not-“ Merlin wiggled his fingers, sending the small creatures flying.  “I’m a Dragonlord, not a…“

Arthur grinned as Merlin’s mouth snapped shut.  “Not a what?” 

“Nothing.” Merlin got to his feet, brushing grass from his jeans.  “So how do we get out of here?  This way?”

Arthur stood up and followed him.  “Come on, what were you going to say?”

“Maybe we should take a taxi to Greenwich,” Merlin said, as he stepped through the brush.

Arthur shoved aside a rhododendron, then ducked beneath a dogwood branch, to emerge into brilliant sunlight.  A warm breeze caught his hair as he looked upon the lush green lawns, dotted now with small groups of people, all without jackets, many stretched out with faces upturned to the sun.

Arthur looked up into a cloudless sky. “I don’t recall it being this bright before.”

“No?” Merlin asked, all innocence.

“No.”

“Well they do say the weather in London is very unpredictable.”

“Do they now.”

“Spring one moment, summer the next.”

“No harm done, I’m assuming,” Arthur said, and shrugged off his jacket.

Merlin tilted his head to the side.  “Just a pleasant- temporary- shift in the weather.”

Arthur hummed and slung his jacket over his arm.  Nearby, an older couple paused to point at the flower covered dogwood trees and rhododendron.  “Let’s go before you do anything else to attract attention.”

“No one will notice anything wrong.  London weather is very moody.”

“Like a sorcerer.”

“I’m not moody.”

Arthur gave Merlin a look as he pulled out his mobile. “Call the Hotel Royale.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the hotel’s private car.  Which is what we should have done to begin with.”

Merlin’s cheeks flushed a nice healthy pink in his outrage.  “That’s what I told you earlier!”

“And now you’re irritated,” Arthur noted.  “Moody, just like I said.”

“Lord Pendragon,” a man said through Arthur’s mobile. “How may we be of service?”

“We need car service to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich.”

“Very good, my lord. Shall we pick you up at your current location in Saint James Park?”

“I- Yes,” Arthur stammered, only barely covering his shock at his mobile somehow conveying this information.  It was, he had to admit, just a little creepy. Not that he’d admit it to Merlin.  Which is why he gave Merlin a confident smile after he’d ended the call.  “There, you see?  All sorted, thanks to my utter mastery of modern technology.”

“Mastery of technology my arse,” Merlin grumbled at him.

“Such language, Lord Hunithson.  Have a care, or you’ll offend your little friends.”

Merlin glanced at the butterflies still sitting on his shoulder, then whispered something that made them fly away.

“Merlin of Ealdor… Butterflylord,” Arthur said, unable to hold it in any longer.

“Very funny.”

“That explains why people call you ‘my lord’.  They mean Lord of the Butterflies.” 

Merlin glared at him and stomped off down the path.

“Why the rush, Butterflylord?”

“Really hate you!” Merlin shouted.

“No you don’t!” Arthur laughed, and jogged to catch up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Though Arthur hated to admit it, the private car was a vast improvement over the Underground.  The enormous brown leather seat felt like it was embracing him, and was warmed as if someone had just been sitting there.  The tinted windows muted the daylight, either for his comfort or to allow him to view the screen mounted into the driver’s seatback.

Merlin forgot his irritation about whose idea the car had originally been, because apparently the car was also a Bentley, only a newer model.  The entire ride to the observatory, Merlin sat perched on the edge of his seat, leaning forward over the wide space separating them from the driver, asking all sorts of questions about it. 

After a half hour of non-stop chatting with the driver, who of course Merlin had charmed with his natural guileless enthusiasm, Arthur climbed from the car with the words ‘turbocharged’ and ‘wheelbase’ and ‘torque’ rattling around in his head.  Merlin’s translation spell had not the first inkling of what to do with those words, giving him a faint headache when he thought too hard about them.  He practically had to pull Merlin from the car, enduring several more minutes of nonsensical chatter about the thing, until finally he was distracted by the fascinating gallery of devices within the Royal Observatory. 

For a while they ventured through the many exhibits, jackets over their arms, the venue somehow climate controlled. After wandering through the astronomy exhibits, they reached the telescope, a device several stories high, and more beautiful than anything he’d seen in London. 

Merlin lasted an entire hour before hinting, repeatedly, that perhaps there were other things they could go see at the Observatory.  Arthur relented only when Merlin described the Planetarium, a room in which the entire universe could be unfolded around them.

When Arthur followed Merlin into the darkened room, he tripped over what was apparently one of the seats that filled the place in concentric rows.  “They could do with some better lighting in here.”

“It’s supposed to be like this,” Merlin said in a loud whisper, then started down one of the rows, grabbing seatbacks as he moved.

Arthur glanced up at the glowing dome overhead, caught his trainer on a seat, and stumbled into Merlin’s back, hands grabbing his hips.

Merlin looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow arching.  “Why Arthur… The lights aren’t even off yet.”

The flirtatious tone had Arthur freeze in place, face going hot.

Merlin laughed softly and took him by the hand, guiding him to an empty section of seats in the room’s centre.  When Arthur sat at Merlin’s side, he discovered that the comfortable seats reclined, allowing him to easily see the ceiling above.

Merlin shifted in his seat until his shoulder pressed warm and solid against Arthur’s. “It’s meant to be London in the twilight,” he said softly, pointing above.

Arthur rested his arm upon their shared armrest, his small finger brushing against Merlin’s. “Rather well done, isn’t it.”

“Our hotel would be over there,” Merlin said, brushing Arthur’s knee with his own.

“With your ridiculous wheel next to it,” Arthur added, sliding his foot closer as well.

“You liked the wheel, admit it.”

Arthur remembered the feeling of Merlin’s arms around him, and his mouth upon his own, as they embraced one another high above the city.  “The wheel was all right.  I liked what we did on it more.”

“Yeah.  I did too.”

Arthur dragged his small finger against Merlin’s.  Felt Merlin’s finger move against his.  The touch sent shocks up his arm. Startlingly arousing, for such an innocent thing.

Merlin shifted in his chair, not too subtly tugging at his jeans.  “And over there,” he said, his voice lower than before, “is Parliament.”

“Yes, and the obnoxiously loud clock tower. Big Elizabeth.”

“It’s not called-“  Merlin registered Arthur’s wry smile, and snorted.  “Very funny.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

Merlin rubbed his knee against Arthur’s, suggestive and teasing.  “I wonder if there’ll be lasers.”

“Lasers?”

“Yeah.  The last planetarium I visited, there was a laser show.”

“So you’ve been in one of these things before?”

“In Buckdale.  Only it was much smaller.  And it wasn’t for space stuff.  It was for a Pink Floyd laser show. Though to be honest I don’t remember much of it.”

“Why’s that?”

“It was Pink Floyd.”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“Look it up on your mobile.  You’ll see.”

Arthur frowned at Merlin’s profile, remembering again how much of his life he didn’t know.  Wanting to ask him about it.  Wanting to hear every detail. But he didn’t know if Merlin wanted to talk about it.  Or if it would bring him pain to do so.

“I hope it’s not boring without the lasers,” Merlin went on.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s not going to be boring.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s space, Merlin.”

Behind him, someone made a loud shushing noise.

Arthur turned in his seat and glared.  “I _beg_ your pardon.”

“Arthur-“

“He shushed me,” Arthur protested, irritated despite himself.  He was ready to accept all manner of indignities in the modern world, from standing in line to waiting to be served, but being shushed was really where he had to draw the line.

“Oh look the show’s starting,” Merlin said.

The room went dark, the ceiling transforming into a starry sky, stars rotating across it, dizzying and beautiful.  As a voice above spoke about the solar system and the planets, Arthur watched one of the points of light become an enormous world unto itself, breathtakingly beautiful rings spinning around it, dozens of moons along side.

When the show ended, they remained in their seats, Merlin leaning heavily against his body, shoulder and arm and leg warm against his own.   “I wonder how long it will take for us to reach Mars,” he asked, his gaze on the dome overhead, as if looking for answers there.

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we.”

Merlin turned his head on the seat back.  Stared at Arthur a long moment.  Then swallowed hard, and nodded.  “Yes,” he said, his voice choked.  “We will.”

Arthur nudged at Merlin’s fingers with his own.  Then watched as Merlin turned his hand over, palm upward.  Feeling his own heart racing for no reason he could understand, Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin’s, their fingers sliding together. 

They’d touched one another far more intimately than this.  But there was something different about doing it in public.  Even here in the dark, where no one could see. 

It felt like more, somehow. 

Arthur licked his lips and glanced over at Merlin, to find him staring up at the pale light above, moisture sparkling in his eyes.

“Let’s watch the show again,” Arthur urged. 

Merlin nodded and swallowed, his neck moving with the effort of it.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

The next show turned out to be an entirely new presentation about the sun, which apparently was an unfathomably large planet made of flame. 

As Arthur watched liquid flame arcing upon the sun’s surface, he found himself thinking about magic.  About how it flowed out of and into the earth.  A cycle as natural as the one above.  Beautiful and elemental and right.

His father had got it all so wrong.  Magic, and the world, and all of it.  For the first time, the thought brought no anger.  Just a deep and aching grief.

He turned his head on the seatback, looking to Merlin at his side. 

In Merlin’s eyes he saw the light reflected from above, a pale imitation of the magic burning within him. 

Merlin looked over, and smiled.

Arthur squeezed his hand and returned his attention to the ceiling, afraid that if he kept looking his heart would betray him, and Merlin would see the light shining in the moisture in his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After they’d finished in the planetarium, they wandered the Greenwich grounds.  It had taken a while for Arthur to regain his balance.  The overhead visuals had thrown off his equilibrium. Either that, or perhaps it was the sheer quantity of information dumped into his brain.

By the time he summoned the hotel’s private car, he had a headache, and his thoughts were tumbling over each other like leaves in a whirlwind.

They had a different driver than last time, this one tall and broad and with a ready smile and a head of wavy hair that reminded Arthur quite unexpectedly of Sir Leon.

Distant memories swirled amid the sight of London’s streets as Arthur sat silent by Merlin’s side, the car moving through noise and chaos, buildings and people all blurring beyond the window as they went.  It got to be too much after a while, so Arthur turned away, dizzy and irritated, to find himself staring at a small screen set into the driver’s seatback.  It displayed the current weather, and then the upcoming weather for the next 10 days – and how on earth could they know that? – and then displayed images of the city, one fading into another, too fast for him to grasp.

Arthur closed his eyes on it all.  “Do you ever feel…?”

“Do I ever feel what?” Merlin asked.

Like you’re too far behind to catch up, Arthur thought.  Like you’ll never feel anything but overwhelmed.  Like you really are a primitive barbarian who was only ever good at fighting with a sword?

“Arthur?”

Arthur opened his eyes and forced a smile. “So who are you talking to?”

“I’m talking to you,” Merlin said curiously, clearly preoccupied with what Arthur had been about to say. 

“I don’t mean now, I mean that,” he said, and gestured to the words upon Merlin’s mobile screen.

“Oh.  That’s just a text for Doctor Drewsberry.”

“A physician?”

“The woman who called this morning.  Remember?  The curator of the exhibit?”

Right, Arthur thought.  The woman who had absolutely not heard their amorous activities.  “And what does she want?”

“Her team had some questions about the manuscripts.  Linguistics things, mostly.”

“Linguistics?”

“Yeah.  The evolution of phonic shifts, specifically.  Not that you have any idea what that is.”

“Of course I do.”  Arthur paused, frowning at the disorienting images suggested by Merlin’s translation spell. “It’s the… the moving around of… groups of letters... over time.”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Did you strain yourself just now, getting that out?”

“Oh shut up.” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and turned towards the window.  They were crossing the river now.  All manner of boats moved upon it, with the current and against, powered by means he did not yet understand.

Another chime sounded, making Merlin mutter something to himself.   Another chime sounded, with more muttering, and thoughtful humming, until Arthur heaved an enormous sigh.  Merlin either ignored it or didn’t hear, neither of which was acceptable. 

“What are they asking now?” Arthur pressed.

“A lot of things.”

“Obviously, considering your mobile is chiming more than that ridiculous bell.”

“I’m trying to answer questions gathered from fifteen people documenting the Common Brittonic, and another five analysing the Old English translation, and-” Merlin paused, reading whatever the latest text alert said. “Huh. That’s a good point.  Was it seventh century…?  No wait, wasn’t there that scribe from Frisland?  He used that word too….”

“Monk?” Arthur asked.

“Nice bloke,” Merlin said absently.  “A little too obsessed with parchment. Wouldn’t even shut up about it in bed.”

Arthur felt his face flush as Merlin went very still beside him.

“And.  Um.  He also made a good bread.”

“Bread, was it?” Arthur asked, strangling back an incomprehensible wave of jealousy, at this man who was long dead.

Another chime had Merlin frowning in thought.  “Huh.  That’s a good idea, actually...  A chart of vocal shifts… damned Norsemen with their linguistic distortions…”

“You didn’t bed any of those, did you?”

Merlin looked over, brows raising in surprise.

“Never mind.  I don’t want to know.”

“Jealous arse,” Merlin mumbled, and went back to his screen.

Arthur closed his eyes, ignoring the screens and the world and the thought of Merlin’s past, without him, alone, upon Avalon’s shore. 

After a brief heavy silence, Merlin went back to muttering about diphthongs and other nonsense.  His low voice and the movement eventually Arthur drifting off, into dreams where he rode through his kingdom in a car, trapped and unable to get out, his castle a dwindling shape in the distance, Merlin standing just out of reach.

“Arthur?”

“Summon the knights,” Arthur slurred out, and blinked open his eyes to searing daylight.

Merlin sat next to him in the back seat of the car, looking worried.  His car door had been opened, a man standing outside it, daylight streaming in. 

“I wasn’t asleep,” Arthur said, and fumbled open his safety belt.  “What are you waiting for?  Get out of the car.”

A tall black metal gate ran along the city block, enclosing a wide stone courtyard.  In its midst sat three gigantic stone buildings pressed together, Greek in architecture with massive fluted stone pillars, supporting a sculpture filled triangular pediment above. 

“When was this palace built?” Arthur asked, as he and Merlin walked into the courtyard.

“The mid eighteen hundreds, I think?   Though it’s not a palace.”

“It looks like a Greek temple.”

“It wasn’t that either.  There was this whole Greek Neoclassical resurgence around the time it was built, where everyone was crazy for classical antiquity and the Vitruvian styles of-“

“Spare me the history lesson,” Arthur interrupted, rubbing at his forehead, still muddled from his unexpected nap.

“Just trying to give you some history.”

“My head is too full of diphthongs and vocal shifts to absorb any more history.”

“Your head is full of something, all right,” Merlin said, as he pulled his mobile from his pocket.

“What?”

“Nothing, sire,” Merlin said cheerfully, and held up the device to take a picture.

Arthur paused at his side to allow him to photograph the building.  The other museum visitors were doing the same thing, though quite a few were just lounging upon the steps, enjoying the warm sun and the pleasant summer breeze. 

When Merlin held up his mobile with a hopeful smile, Arthur rolled his eyes on principle, then pressed himself to Merlin’s side, smiling at the mobile, so Merlin could photograph them together with the massive structure behind them.

They passed through the front doors into a large entrance hall, walking among the museum visitors, into the Grand Atrium hall. 

“You should have waited until you got in to take your pictures,” Arthur said, as they stepped inside. 

White glass and a beautiful latticework of steel formed the atrium’s roof, several stories above his head, enclosing the entire space as wide as Camelot’s courtyard.  It was large enough to fit a building inside it, round like a castle tower, though only a few stories high, with stairs crawling up along its curved exterior.

“I see the Information desk,” Merlin said.  “I’m supposed to announce us there.  Be right back.”

Arthur nodded absently, walking into the vast open space, squinting up at the bright ceiling, wondering how in the hell they had built the thing.  When he bumped into something hard, he turned and found a statue nearby, cast entirely in marble.  “Must have cost a fortune,” he said, sliding his hand over the smooth marble.

“Lord Hunithson?”

Arthur rounded the statue to watch a tall blonde woman in a short black skirt and blue blouse approaching Merlin.  Her black glasses did nothing to hide her beauty, nor did the way she had her hair secured at the base of her neck.  Her steps were long and graceful as she walked, despite the strange tall heeled shoes she wore. 

Merlin didn’t stop smiling at her as she approached. “Doctor Drewsberry,” he called, waving to her, and closing the space between them, to take her hand in his own.

Arthur walked over to them, entirely unnoticed, because they were already in the middle of a discussion about vocal shifts.

“You were right!” the woman said, loud and excited. “The root word is a Proto-Indo-European cognate. I checked with my colleagues in Princeton, and they found several other occurrences in texts from that era.”

“The old languages endured longer than people realise,” Merlin told her.

“As is the case,” Arthur added, “with many things, my lady.”

Merlin gave him an odd look, and a strangly strangled looking smile, as if he were trying not to laugh. “Right, so Doctor Drewsberry-“

“Please, call me Cassandra,” she interrupted. “All the texting we’ve been doing on the phone, I feel like I know you already!”

“ _Cassandra_ ,” Merlin said, with a delighted grin, “this is Lord Arthur Pendragon.  I mentioned him on the phone?”

“Arthur Pendragon of Avalon, how could I forget?” she asked, too familiar and too teasing and entirely omitting his made up title. “Doctor Cassandra Drewsberry.   Pleased to meet you.”

Arthur clasped her outstretched hand. “The pleasure is mine, Doctor Drewsberry. The museum is very fortunate indeed to have you as its physician.”

Merlin gave a cough of laughter, then cleared his throat.

“I’m not a physician,” the woman said, slipping her hand from his grip.  I’m a PhD in Proto-Indo-European Languages, with a Post Doctorate in Ancient British Civilisations and Anthropology.”

“Of course, of course.  And… what is it you do here, precisely?”

 “I’m the Head Curator of Special Exhibits.  Which means I have the honour of presenting the Avalon Manuscripts to the world, in our famous Reading Room, right there.  Would you care to see our preparations?”

“Yes, please,” Merlin said, and started forward.

Arthur followed along like an afterthought, completely ignored as Cassandra started talking once again about linguistic nonsense. 

The entrance they approached was roped off to the public, and guarded by four uniformed and apparently armed men.

“My apologies for our meagre security,” Cassandra said. “The new automated security system will be installed just before midnight tonight.”  She poked at her tablet screen, and held up the display to Merlin. “State of the art, I assure you.  Cameras, motion detectors, 24-hour monitoring… Everything.”

“All that to protect a couple of books?” Arthur asked her.

The woman stopped walking, looking at Arthur as if he’d just spat on the floor. “I would hardly call a pair of thousand-year-old handwritten manuscripts in Brittonic and Old English – the first known occurrence of Arthurian legend- written by a man calling himself Merlin, just a couple of books.”

Arthur ignored Merlin’s smug grin.  “I meant no offense.  I’m certain the books are of great importance.   To people who value such things.”

“They’re of value to _everyone_ ,” Cassandra said, as if this fact were obvious to the world at large, instead of to a roomful of language scholars.  “Don’t you understand why they-?”

“So the manuscripts are through this door?” Merlin asked quickly, through poorly hidden laughter.

“In the Reading Room, yes.  Would you care to see them, Lord Hunithson?”

“You can call me Merlin, really.”

“That would be delightful. It’s such an auspicious name!”

“Yes, you know, I’ve always thought so.”

Arthur began to express his opinion on the smug look Merlin had shot him, but was interrupted by Cassandra, _again_.

“I’m so excited to show you what we’ve done so far,” she said, a hand resting upon Merlin’s arm.  “If you’ll follow me, Lord Hunithson?”

“Merlin, please…”

“Yes, Merlin, I’m sorry, of course.  And my friends call me Cassie, by the way.”

“What a lovely name, Cassie…”

Arthur only barely stopped himself rolling his eyes, an entirely fake smile plastered on his lips, as he followed along behind them.

Guards stood at the doorway of the enormous round building, sat there in the middle of the glass-enclosed atrium courtyard.  Cassandra vouched for them both, allowing them passage into the library building, a circular room several stories tall and entirely open in the middle.

The library’s walls were covered in books, several stories high with walkways at each floor, stretching all the way up to the domed glass roof above.  Natural light shone down from it, illuminating rows of desks upon the floor, stretching out like spokes of a wheel.  At its hub was a freshly built wooden platform, twice the width of his round table, and twice the height as well. 

At least twenty museum employees were moving upon it, researchers from the looks of them, half of them on folding chairs with laptops propped upon their legs, others gathered around a longer table that was covered in books.

Cassandra paused at the steps leading up to the platform, to discuss something in a lowered voice with one of the guards.

“Beautiful,” Merlin said.

Arthur watched the natural sunlight shine upon Cassandra’s blonde hair, and cast flattering shadows upon her slim body.  “I suppose.”

“You suppose?  Are you kidding me?”

Arthur glanced at Merlin sharply, feeling kicked in the stomach.

Merlin didn’t notice, his attention entirely absorbed the books, his expression full of longing and of astonishment as well.

“The books,” Arthur said, relieved.  “That’s what you’re talking about.”

“Just look at this collection!  It’s _gorgeous_.”

“Yes.”  Arthur set a hand upon Merlin’s shoulder, seeing Cassandra approach.  “Yes, it is.”

“All these books,” Merlin said, breathless.

“The perfect setting,” Cassandra said proudly, “for an announcement of such import.  Hopefully, in future, we can build a more permanent wing for your manuscripts.  You wouldn’t happen to know of a donor who might happen to have the funds? Someone with a manor upon the lake of Avalon perhaps?”

Merlin laughed and ducked his head.  “Can’t imagine who you mean.”

Cassandra smiled at him as if Merlin were an herb crusted capon, then consulted her computer tablet.  “The glass display cabinets have just come in.  They’ll be placed upon the platform, though for now my team is using it to finish studying the books.”

The researchers standing upon the wooden platform had started staring in their direction, obviously interested in their arrival.

“Might I introduce you?” Cassandra asked.

 “Go right ahead,” Arthur assured her.

She glanced at him, obviously surprised that he had answered, before turning her attention to Merlin, who gave her a happy nod.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she called, “it is my great honour to introduce a man to whom we all hold a lifelong debt.  A man without whom none of us would be here.”  She swept out an arm to point at Merlin, smiling brightly.  “Lord Merlin Hunithson of Avalon.”

Applause echoed through the cavernous room, as the researchers called out thanks and cheers, their adoration reminding Arthur of how his people had once looked upon him.

Merlin squirmed at his side, elbow jabbing Arthur’s ribs. “Thank you.  Really. But it’s honestly not necessary-“

“I disagree,” Cassandra told him quickly.  “And I believe my team does as well.  Because Merlin, your family’s manuscripts are…  Well.  They’re the answer to questions most of us have been asking all our lives.”

“Speaking of questions…” called one of the young men.

“I have a few!” a young woman next to him said.

“I have a few hundred!” added a grey haired woman at her side.

Cassandra smiled and pressed a hand to Merlin’s arm. “You see?  You’re quite the popular man here.”

“I’d be happy to help, but…”

Arthur watched Merlin look over at him, imploring.

“It seems you’re needed here,” Arthur said.  “So if-“

“Oh he’s definitely needed,” Cassandra said.

Arthur forced another smile despite the rudeness of the interruption.  His cheeks were beginning to hurt from the effort. “Go on, then.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll tour the museum.  I had intended to see the-“

“If you need a guide,” Cassandra said, “just let us know.  I can arrange one.  It can be easy to get lost here, I’ve been told.”

“I can find my own way,” Arthur said, but she’d already stepped to Merlin’s side, that hand still on his arm, guiding him over to the platform. 

“So the phonic shift you texted me about earlier,” she said, as they walked away.  “How can you be certain that it was eighth century and not the twelfth?”

“It’s the Nordic influence. The sixth century didn’t have-“

“None of those influences, no, you’re right.  But surely some of the Proto Celtic endured in Avalon or-”

“Not really, not as much as you might think…”

Arthur glared at their backs, furious that he’d been forgotten so easily. “I’ll just be on my way then, shall I?” he called.

Merlin started to glance back, but Cassandra asked another question, drawing his attention away.

“Right then,” Arthur said, and left the room, unnoticed.

*****

The museum, Arthur discovered, was equal parts inspiring and humbling.  It was a popular destination, judging by the mingling crowds moving around him.  But here everyone moved carefully, most taking time to study the collected objects.

History lay in pieces in each room, far older than he’d ever suspected, far grander than his small island kingdom. It made him want to strangle his tutors in Camelot, because even what he’d learned about the Greeks and Romans had fallen sadly short. And of the grand civilisations on other contents he’d been taught nothing at all.

“Ramses the Great,” Arthur read aloud, as he stood before a block of stone taller than his head, staring up at the carved granite torso of an Egyptian king upon it.  “Third Pharaoh of the Nineteenth Dynasty of… Good lord, nineteenth dynasty?” 

 “Ozymandius,” said a voice nearby.

A young man wearing headphones stood nearby, his short black hair and sharp eyes reminding him of Elyan.  “What was that?”

The young pointed to his headphones.  “Ozymandius.  That’s what the tour says.  He’s the ‘look upon my works ye mighty and despair’ bloke.  The king who thought he was all that.”

Arthur stared up at the statue’s lifeless face.  “He ruled over a vast empire.  From the time he was just a boy.  For far longer than many other kings managed to do it.”

“He’s just a big piece of stone now, ain’t he. Like the poem says. Nothing left but sand.”

Arthur didn’t answer.  Didn’t even notice the young man walk away.

He was still in the Egyptian room when a voice announced the museum was closing.  Many of the other visitors had already left.  When Arthur pulled out his mobile, he realised two hours had passed.  And not a single word from anyone.

“Call Merlin,” he told his mobile, and held it up to his ear.

After six rings, Merlin finally answered. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time-“

“They’re closing the museum.”

“They are?  Wow, that’s…  All right.  Let me just finish up things here. Can you find your way back?  Or should I send someone to find you?”

Send someone, Arthur thought irritably.  Not come and get you.  Send someone.  “I can find my way,” he snapped.

“Great, because I’m right in the middle of something.  See you in a few then, yeah?”

And then Merlin hung up without waiting for a response. 

Arthur glared down at his mobile, then shoved it in his pocket, and stormed from the room.

He got lost twice, finally asking for directions, from a guard who was urging the few remaining visitors to leave.  When he reached the Reading Room, he discovered the activity hadn’t diminished. If anything, people had multiplied, thirty or forty people now, all moving between the researchers seated at the many desks, stacks of papers and laptop computers everywhere.

Merlin stood upon the platform, a large group of researchers crowded around him, like a king at his court.  Cassandra, of course, stood close by his side, writing furiously upon her computer tablet.

“Excuse me, sir,” came a voice.  “You can’t be here.”

Arthur watched the guard approach, another following close behind him.  “I most certainly can.”

“Come on,“ the first guard said, and dropped his hand to Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur grabbed his wrist and twisted, shoving the man into his companion, who lost his balance and tumbled back over a chair, both men falling in a sprawl and a clatter of furniture to the floor.

“Oi! You there!”

Arthur turned towards two more guards who were rushing forward, a third running from the far wall, a large device held to his mouth.

“The hell are you doing!” Merlin shouted. 

Arthur looked up to see Merlin charging down the steps towards the approaching guards, red faced and dangerous as the oncoming storm.

Arthur caught him by the arm and squeezed the tensing muscles hard. “That’s enough.”

The furious expression Merlin turned on him would have terrified anyone, even if they didn’t know he could set cities aflame with a thought. Arthur stood steady under his blue eyed gaze, registering the distant flickers of gold, and said calmly, “There is no need, Merlin, for livestock.”

Merlin’s dark brows arched upward.  Then he choked out a laugh of surprise.

“Better,” Arthur said, and let go.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Arthur screwed up his nose to express his regal offense at the suggestion.

“Right,” Merlin laughed.  “Sorry.  Stupid of me.”

“Stupid is one word for it, yes.”

An electronic sputtering had them both turning, to watch the first two guards climbing to their feet, as the others mingled around them in frustrated confusion.

“No harm done,” Arthur called to them, even turning a smile to Cassandra, who was hurrying toward them. 

“What happened?” she asked, looking from Arthur to the guards and back again.

“Just a misunderstanding,” Arthur assured her, though he gave the guards a smile that suggested future misunderstandings would not end so well.

Merlin stepped closer to Cassandra, speaking in a low voice.  “I don’t want them here tomorrow.”

“I’ll see to it myself,” she assured him. 

“Tomorrow?” Arthur asked.

Merlin turned to look at him, a strained smile upon his face.  “Yeah.  Um.  About that.”

A call from the platform had Cassandra excusing herself, hurrying over to where four women stood debating heatedly by a nearby desk.

“So,” Merlin began.  “About tomorrow…”

“You said the reception isn’t until two days from now.”

“Yeah.  It is.  But the team has-“

“Questions, of course they do.  Merlin, you do realise we’re supposed to be on holiday.”

“We can still do everything we planned,” Merlin assured him.  “The Tower of London and the boat ride on the Thames and all that.  Just, you know, afterward, we could stop by here?  Just for a half hour?  It’s not far from the Tower, really.”

Arthur’s resolve crumbled in the face of Merlin’s hopeful smile.  “This exhibit is really that important to you?”

Merlin looked at him as if he were insane to ask.  “Not just to me.  To us.  Once people learn about my books, they’ll-“

“All right,” Arthur said, interrupting what was undoubtedly another lecture about dipthongs and vocal shifts.  “Fine.  We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“We won’t be here long,  I promise.”  Merlin grabbed his jacket from a desk as they made for the exit. “So how did you like the museum?”

Arthur thought of the pharaoh upon his pedestal, and of the artefacts of dead civilisations, displayed in glass cases like a macabre crypt.  “It was very… educational.”

“Educational?  Better be careful not to injure your brain, stuffing too much into it.”

“I’ll injure your brain,” Arthur muttered, and grabbed him by the back of his jacket to pull him along.

When they reached the portico of the museum, and stood overlooking the empty courtyard, Merlin paused and turned to him.  “Now what?”

Arthur stared at the row of stone buildings standing like sentinels beyond the courtyard.  He could feel the city pressing in with its ceaseless droning and its bitter air.  “We’ll go back to the hotel, I should think.”

“You’re done looking at the city?”

“We need to eat dinner.  And rest for a while.  We can figure out what to do then.”

“So… you still want to go out later?” Merlin asked, with a reluctance Arthur was relieved to behold.

“We don’t have to.  We have tomorrow, after all.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, delighted.  “We do, don’t we.”

Arthur didn’t bother hiding his smile, as he pulled out his mobile to call the car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A casual mention to the hotel driver had a full dinner awaiting them in the dining room of their flat.  Twenty covered dishes sat spread out upon it, with two empty place settings at opposite ends of the long table.

“Bugger that,” Merlin said, and grabbed a plate.

“My thoughts exactly,” Arthur told him, and did the same.

After filling their plates with food, they went to collapse upon the living room sofa, glasses of wine in their hands.

“Try not to make a mess,” Arthur said, propping his feet on the table, several peas rolling off his plate.

“Are you talking to me or to yourself?”

Arthur nudged him and relaxed back in the seat, comforted by Merlin’s presence at his side, and by the softly lit room, drapes drawn against the city beyond.

For a while they ate in a silence Arthur was loath to disturb.  When he’d nearly finished his plate, he elbowed Merlin in the side.  “I can hear you thinking.”

“Hmm?  Oh.  Just something I was discussing with the team about the shift of-“

“If you say phonics, I’m going to dump your food on your head.”

Merlin pressed his lips together and wrinkled his nose up at him.

“Speaking of the museum,” Arthur said, as he poked at the remnants of his potatoes. “That woman you’ve been chatting with.  The one who speaks strangely.”

“What, Cassandra?”

“What an odd name.  Cassandra.”

“It’s not odd. And she doesn’t speak strangely.  She just has a bit of an American accent.  From the years she spent working in New York.”

“Is that where she learned her poor manners?” Arthur leaned forward, dropping his plate on the table.  “I’ve never met a woman so rude.”

“You only think that because you’re used to people kissing your arse because you’re nobility.”

“Actually, after years with you, I’m used to people not kissing my arse.”

Merlin gave a proud smile at that accomplishment. “Well then, it’s even more a mystery why you don’t like her, you being so used to insolent servants.”

“I never said I don’t like her.”

Merlin gave him a look.

“All right.  Fine.  I don’t like her.  But she doesn’t like me either, though I cannot fathom why. I’m extremely likeable, as you know.”

Merlin laughed softly, half choking on his mouthful of food.  “I still can’t believe you asked her if she was the museum’s physician.“

“How was I supposed to know that there’s doctors who aren’t doctors?  What a stupid idea.”

“Did you think she gave poultices to the statues?”

“You only like her because she makes a spectacle of herself, fawning all over you,” Arthur pointed out. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Merlin said, in entirely feigned innocence.

“It’s disgusting to watch.  Oh Merlin, you’re just so popular Merlin, please help us Merlin-”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” Merlin laughed, setting his plate down and flopping back by his side.  “I mean, it’s not like I spent my entire life in Camelot watching every single woman throw herself at you-”

“It wasn’t every woman,” Arthur said, though he couldn’t actually remember many who hadn’t.  “Anyway, it’s not my fault I’m irresistible.”

“Oh please.”

“As well as breathtakingly handsome-”

“Your socks are what’s breathtaking.”

“And possessing charisma unmatched by all others-”

“And an ego unmatched as well.”

Arthur scoffed in mock offense, and shoved Merlin sideways on the couch. 

Merlin shoved back, Arthur grabbing at his hands, easily falling into a frantic scuffle upon the sofa, shoving elbows and shoulders at each other, until Arthur shoved Merlin over, and sat back, victorious, jamming his feet back on the table.

“Bully,” Merlin laughed at him, and sat up at his side, even closer than before. 

Arthur smiled at Merlin’s profile, absently sliding his fingertips along where his leg was pressed to Merlin’s.  There wasn’t even enough room for his fingers to fit between them. 

“Why do you never do this in public?” Arthur asked softly.

“Do what?  Wind you up?  I do that all the time.”

“No, I mean… How close you are to me.  Right now.  Because you haven’t been…  I mean I haven’t…”

Arthur paused, frustrated, unable to force out the words.

It was uncomfortable, even now, to speak of such things.  Arthur had never needed to do so, in his marriage with Gwen.  Even though she’d been a servant, they’d fallen easily into traditional roles.  There was no need to discuss anything, not even in their bed.

But with Merlin it was _always_ a discussion.  About everything, all the time. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, curious.

“You don’t… touch me,” Arthur forced out.  “In public.  I mean, you do, but it’s as if we’re friends.”

“What, we’re not friends?”

Arthur gave him a look, and watched Merlin’s teasing smile ease away.

“Right,” he mumbled, and slid his fingertips over his jeans. “Sorry.”

“It’s happened a few times, since Avalon.”

Merlin sighed and leaned back against the sofa.  “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re not denying it, then?”

“No.”

“So then… There’s a reason for it?”

Merlin scowled at the ceiling. “I promised not to turn anyone into livestock.”

Arthur shifted in his seat, an arm stretched over the cushion behind Merlin’s head.  “Care to explain?”

“Not everyone approves,” Merlin said.  “Of seeing two men...”

“As lovers,” Arthur said, though his face flushed hot.

“Yeah, as lovers,” Merlin sighed.  “And if anyone said something offensive, to you I mean… I don’t know I could stop myself from doing something about it.”

“I have no idea why.  People have often said offensive things about me.” Arthur nudged Merlin with his shoulder.  “You say them yourself. Quite often.”

“Not these types of things.”

Arthur stared at Merlin’s sharp profile, at thinned lips and mouth turned down, his chin jutting out in anger. “That’s really the only reason why you... Because people might call me names?”

Merlin looked over at him, clearly surprised.  “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Of course not.  It’s just insults, after all.  And even if it were actual threats, there’s nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“We shouldn’t have to handle it, that’s the point,” Merlin bit out, pain flashing in his blue eyes.

In the silence that followed, Arthur realised something he should have figured out before.  “It happened to you,” he heard himself say.  “While I was gone.  Didn’t it.”

Merlin flinched, dark brows pulling together, as if he’d revealed something he hadn’t meant to.

“When?” Arthur pressed.

Merlin dropped his gaze, shaking his head.  “Not often.  I mean, I wasn’t kidding you today.  When I said I wasn’t with people often.  But a few times… when I was… and people found out about me being open minded...”  He laughed, low and dry.  “They didn’t react well.”

Arthur felt his heart beating against his ribs, his stomach churning in helpless fury.  “What did you do?”

“I had to change my appearance and my identity again.” Merlin picked at the cushions, dark brows pulled together above lowered eyes.  “I lost my friends.  Had to start all over again.  But it was better than the jail cell.  Or the pyre.”

“The pyre?”

“They didn’t just burn sorcerers.”

Arthur’s breath escaped his lungs in a loud breath, imagining Merlin running from a mob, or worse, running from people who had been his friends, for the crime of being different.  “You said…”  He had to clear his throat.  “It’s different now, though.”

“Yeah, it is.  Here.  Though some people still… Well.  Old ways die hard, in people’s hearts.”

Silence stretched on, heavy with the meaning of Merlin’s words.

Merlin grabbed his wine glass and drained it dry, setting it upon the table with a soft clink of glass against wood.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said.

Merlin tipped his head back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.  “It was a long time ago.”

“And I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“Arthur-”

“I wasn’t there,” Arthur interrupted, cutting off the inevitable list of reasons that had kept them apart, that had kept Merlin suffering, that had subjected him to the ignorance and hatred of people unworthy to stand in Merlin’s presence.

Merlin turned his head on the cushion, surprised by his king’s vehemence.

Arthur shifted upon the couch, brushing his fingertips along Merlin’s jaw, shaking his head at himself.  “I should have been there,” he repeated, and pressed a kiss of apology to Merlin’s lips.

Merlin’s hand found its way to Arthur’s hair, holding him firmly, as they brushed their lips together, the taste of wine sweet between them. 

When they parted, Arthur leaned his forehead against Merlin’s, dropping his hand to take Merlin’s in his own, holding on too tight, too desperately. 

But he couldn’t help it.  He kept imagining all Merlin had suffered, those long years alone. 

 _All those years_ , Arthur thought furiously. All those centuries. The more he thought of it, the angrier he got, his body shaking with his growing fury. 

“What is it?” Merlin whispered, lips moving against Arthur’s.

Arthur cupped the side of Merlin’s face, dragging his thumb over wet lips, his fingertips over rough stubble, a sensation he couldn’t imagine living without. “Never again,” he choked out.

Merlin leaned back, looking at him curiously.  “What?”

“Never again will you have to worry about people hurting you for who you are,” Arthur said, words surging up from his heart, an oath sworn to the heart of Albion herself.

“It’s all right,” Merlin whispered.

“No, it’s not,” Arthur said, a sudden rage deepening his voice.  “And I swear to you, if even one person… Even _one_ … should ever say _anything_ cruel to you about what we are to one another… By the gods, Merlin…”

Merlin’s breaths were coming hot and fast against Arthur’s lips.  “Then what?”

“Then they shall answer to _me_ ,” Arthur growled. “And when I’m done with them, their fondest _wish_ will be to become livestock.  If there’s enough left of them to wish anything at all!”

Merlin’s stared in shock, then threw himself forward, knees and elbows banging into Arthur’s, as he breathlessly kissed him all the way down to the couch.

Arthur hauled Merlin atop his body, kicking out to get his balance, wine glasses and bottles clattering. 

“What else,” Merlin panted, as he licked into Arthur’s mouth. “Tell me-“

“I’ll make them pay for every word,” Arthur growled, hand sliding into Merlin’s hair, holding him so he could kiss him long and deep.

Merlin groaned into his mouth, and licked along Arthur’s teeth.

The startling invasion had him gasping, as Merlin looked down at him, wide eyed and clearly wanted to hear more. 

“I’d beat them _senseless_ ,” Arthur growled, and Merlin shoved a leg between his own, the bulge of his bulge of his cock obvious beneath his jeans. 

“So wrong,” Merlin moaned into Arthur’s mouth, between kisses.  “So, so wrong…”

Arthur tipped his head back on the sofa, gasping for breath, rutting up against Merlin’s heavy body, in rhythm with him grinding down, the friction maddening and glorious even with the thick fabric of their jeans.   But then he remembered what Merlin had said. “Wrong-?”

“Being turned on by you threatening people,” Merlin said, still writhing atop him, voice low and rough like their rutting, and just as desperate for more.

Arthur barely kept up with Merlin’s passionate onslaught, feeling Merlin actually _biting_ him, and since when was _that_ arousing, and- oh, Merlin needed to do that _again_ -

“Tell me,” Merlin panted, teeth dragging against Arthur’s neck. “Tell me what else-“

“I would drive them into the ground,” Arthur heard himself say, hands grabbing hard at Merlin’s hips. “I’d put my boot to their throat.“

Merlin whimpered and shuddered, startling a moan from Arthur’s throat.

“I would break them,” Arthur choked out, meaning it with all his heart. “But not before I made them beg you for mercy, for every _fucking_ thing they’d said to you-“

Merlin slid his open mouth along Arthur’s neck, tongue lapping at hot skin.  “God, keep talking…”

Arthur slid his hands up and down Merlin’s back, feeling his muscles flexing and his spine arching, distracted by the weight of his body pressing the breath from him, and the feeling of his arousal so obvious and demanding

“Come on,” Merlin urged, and then to Arthur’s shock, he stuck his tongue in Arthur’s ear.

It was so startlingly arousing that Arthur arched upon the couch, a long list of threats spilling from his lips, each worse than the one before.

Mentions of beatings had Merlin fumbling at both their jeans.  Torment with a knife had Merlin’s hand wrapping around his cock.  And when Arthur swore oaths to every god he knew that he would make anyone who had ever hurt Merlin pay through torture and prolonged death, he felt Merlin’s weight atop him vanish, and before Arthur could even open his eyes to find out why, he felt Merlin’s lips tight and wet around his cock. 

Arthur shouted at the ceiling, a hand flying to take hold of Merlin’s hair, eyes wide and helpless at the sensation of tongue and mouth and even a little teeth.  His body was vibrating, one long string of sensation, wildly out of control. 

Merlin groaned and hummed and held Arthur down by the hip with one hand, shoving at his own clothes with the other, Arthur’s t-shirt only barely rucked up, his jeans only just enough pushed down, not that it hindered at all how thoroughly Merlin was taking him apart.

In rather astonishingly short order, Arthur found himself crying out in relentless bliss, release washing over him, making him shudder so hard that he nearly kicked Merlin from the couch.

He was still dizzy and trembling when Merlin climbed over his body, licking at his full, reddened lips, very blatantly swallowing even as he bent to kiss him, his tongue bitter and wonderful as it slid into Arthur’s welcoming mouth. 

“Touch me,” Merlin breathed against his lips.  “Arthur, please…“

“I’ll carve them up with my dagger,” Arthur choked out, jerking Merlin’s cock hard and fast.  “I’ll run them through with my _sword_ -“

Merlin curled forward with a shout, spilling hot and wet all over his shirt.

He collapsed almost at once, chest heaving, panting into Arthur’s neck, fluids sliding between them on the small amount of skin they’d exposed. 

Arthur flopped his arms to Merlin’s back, barely able to breathe for the weight of him, but not caring in the slightest.

For a while he lay in stunned silence, hand sliding absently up and down Merlin’s t-shirt, wondering how in the world he kept re-learning the true definition of sex. Because things like this, with Merlin, kept constantly showing him that it wasn’t at all what he’d thought.

 “Wow,” Merlin said on a sigh.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, still in a daze.

“That was… new.”

“New?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then… In fifteen hundred years, you never…”

“Got worked up by someone threatening anyone who insulted me?  No, definitely not.”

“Just me, then,” Arthur said smugly.

“Yeah, apparently just you.”

“Because I’m so much better able to defend you than any of the others were.”

Merlin snorted against his skin.  “Might have something to do with twelve centuries of my fantasising about you on the training field, too.”

Arthur lifted his head, staring down at a mess of black hair.  “Only twelve?”

Merlin slapped at his chest.  “Only you would be offended that it was only twelve centuries.”

“Point taken.” Arthur shifted upon the sofa, cringing when the zipper of Merlin’s jeans caught on sensitive small hairs.

“Let me just…” Merlin shifted to one elbow, red cheeked and smiling, and began adjusting his clothing.

Arthur somehow got himself put to rights, then shifted to let Merlin lay more comfortably at his side, half atop him and half pressed back to the cushioned seatbacks.  “This shirt is definitely going to need washing,” he pointed out, plucking at the wet material, fully soaked now by the mess on his stomach below it.

Merlin rested his cheek upon Arthur’s chest, and flopped a leg over Arthur’s.  “Tell the servants to wash it.”

“Servants?”

Next to him, Merlin’s body was shaking with silent laughter. 

“Very funny,” Arthur said, and poked him.

“Serves you right.”

After Arthur shifted for a third time, pulling at his wet shirt, Merlin slid his hand down to the wet patch and whispered words against his skin.  A warm sensation slid at once over Arthur’s abdomen.  When he felt at the fabric, he couldn’t feel anything wet.

Incredulous, he looked down at Merlin.

Merlin peeked up at him, looking oddly caught out. 

“Seriously?” Arthur asked him.

“It was bothering you, wasn’t it?”

Arthur found himself laughing.  “Well.  Who would have thought it?  We actually found something you’re good for.”

Merlin rested his sharp chin upon Arthur’s chest, his expression turning playful. “And what thing is that, sire?  The magic?  Or the blow job?”

“Such language,” Arthur said severely, trying to suppress his blush.

Merlin kept looking at him, knowing and suggestive and filthy, until finally he smiled, because Arthur’s cheeks were burning up with a blush. 

“Shut up,” Arthur told him.

“Stop it.  It’s adorable.”

“I am not _adorable_.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Merlin nudged his nose against Arthur’s.  “Most of the time you’re stupidly, inexcusably, irritatingly handsome.”

The final word confused Arthur into silence, uncertain as to whether he should protest or not.

“That was a compliment,” Merlin explained, smiling, and then kissed him.

Unlike the kisses before, this one was soft, and lingering.  It ended only for another to begin, Merlin brushing his lips feather soft against Arthur’s, sometimes amid a teasing flick of his tongue. Arthur found himself relaxing into the cushions, intoxicated by the brushes of Merlin’s lips against his own, his desire a muted simmering thing, just a distant sensation beneath his swell of affection for the man in his arms.

Arthur draped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, thinking: _Finally_. 

This was what he’d longed for all day.  This moment.  Here.  Just the two of them.  Together. As they never could have been, long ago.

When Merlin finally leaned back, it was to look down at him with open fondness, a crooked smile upon his lips.  He slid his fingers along Arthur’s jaw, then traced the line of his lips, first the bottom, and then the top. 

His touch was so tender that Arthur held his breath, afraid to disturb the moment.  Not just the touching, but the connection he felt singing between them, a feeling that had nothing to do with magic, and everything to do with what lay in their hearts.

Home, Arthur thought, as he watched Merlin smile down at him, his eyes crinkled up, so adoring that Arthur ached at the sight.  This, he thought.  This is what it feels like, to be home.  No castle, no keep. Just the arms of someone who loved him more than he would ever deserve.

With a happy sigh, Merlin bent and kissed him once more, closed lipped and chaste, before settling in at his side, head heavy upon Arthur’s shoulder, body draped upon him. 

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s back, sighing into his hair.  “Let’s not go anywhere tonight.”

“Okay,” Merlin said.

Arthur slid his hand up and down Merlin’s back, losing himself in the sensation.  He felt himself drifting, sliding easily into sleep, but was startled awake by Merlin twitching at his side. 

“Mmff,” Merlin mumbled into his chest, and resettled himself, cheekbone hard upon Arthur’s chest.

Arthur smiled up at the ceiling.  “Comfortable?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Our bed might actually be more so.”

“Mm mmm.”

“Was that a no?”

“I like it here,” Merlin said through a sigh.

“Good,” Arthur whispered. “So do I.”

 


	4. old and new, side by side

Arthur was standing at the Round Table, giving a speech to his knights, when he heard the chime of a text alert.

“Who didn’t shut off their mobile?” he demanded.

“Sorry, what?” came Merlin’s voice.

Arthur jolted awake, his nose mashing into a fabric covered thigh. Merlin was sat up next to where he lay beneath the blankets sprawled on his stomach, pressed close to Merlin’s leg, where it stretched out on their bed.

When the next chime sounded, Arthur pushed up to his elbows, the blankets sliding from his head to reveal blinding daylight. “Gods’ sakes,” he said, and rubbed his face.

“Finally awake, are you?” Merlin asked, and shifted against the headboard, his mobile in his hand, poking away at its screen with one long finger.

Arthur squinted at the clock tower.  “It’s only nine o’clock.”  

“It’s about to go on ten, actually.”

“I don’t care.  I’m not done sleeping.” Arthur dragged the blankets back over his head and wriggled deeper under the covers, face shoved into the dark crevice between Merlin’s leg and the mattress. 

“You know, times like this, it’s really hard to believe that you’re the same man who used to throw things at me if I woke you after eight in the morning.”

“I had a kingdom to run then.  What use is not being king if I can’t even have a lie in?”

Another chime sounded beyond the covers.

“Turn that damned thing off!”

“Oh, sure, now it’s a ‘damned thing’, when it’s mine.”

The next chime was followed by Merlin muttering about conjugations.

Arthur flung away the covers.  “Are you texting that woman?  In our bed?”

“Just a second…” Merlin poked at the screen, biting his lip in concentration. 

His black hair was a mess, and he was bare chested, but his eyes were bright, which meant he’d been awake for some time.  Texting that woman. 

“Put it away,” Arthur snapped at him.

 “All right, all right… Just let me finish this… last… sentence…”

Another chime sounded.  And then another.  And then two more.

“Huh. I didn’t think of that,” Merlin mumbled, and started to reply.

Arthur surged up, grabbed Merlin’s mobile, and tossed it across the room.

“I was using that,” Merlin snapped at him as he got up. 

Arthur propped his chin on folded arms, distracted from any reply by the sight of Merlin’s backside as he walked away.  As Merlin bent to retrieve his mobile, his sleeping trousers stretched tight, over flexing muscles that Arthur wanted to grab onto and squeeze-

“Arse,” Merlin grumbled at him, and brushed imaginary dirt from the screen.  “Good thing you didn’t break it.”

“Oh stop being such an old woman. The carpet in here is so thick that I can’t see my feet.”

“Which is really saying something, because your feet are-” The mobile chimed in his hand.  He swiped at the screen, then laughed at whatever was on the screen.

Arthur grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, nearly knocking the device from Merlin’s hands. 

“Will you stop it?”

“All right, _fine_ , since your mobile is obviously more important to you than _me_.”

The childish words echoed into silence, Merlin went entirely still, lips parting and eyes widening, as if Arthur had physically struck him.

“I didn’t mean…” Arthur shook his head at himself and sat up, because Merlin was storming from the room.  “Merlin, wait-“

“Let me go fetch your royal breakfast, _my lord_ ,” Merlin snapped, and slammed the door on his way out.

Arthur flopped back to the bed with a groan, then dragged a pillow over his head, wondering how he’d ever managed to rule an entire kingdom, being so absolutely stupid.

He fell asleep before figuring it out, only to be startled awake by a mobile ringing loudly right by his ear.

Swatting away bedding, Arthur shoved himself to his elbows.  There, upon the mattress, next to where his head had been, sat his mobile, still ringing.

Merlin’s name was displayed as the caller.

Arthur lifted the device to his ear. “ _What_?”

“Breakfast is ready,” came Merlin’s cheerful voice, both in the bedroom and through the speaker.

Arthur blinked blearily at the foot of the bed, to discover Merlin standing there, smug and grinning, mobile still held to his ear.

Arthur flung his own device to the bed. “That _wasn’t_ funny.”

“Funny?” Merlin asked innocently. “Why, I have no idea what you mean. I only wanted make sure you didn’t miss your breakfast.”

“Oh really.”

“And you do love that mobile of yours,” Merlin said through barely suppressed laughter, his chest muscles flexing as he held it back.

Arthur refused to let it distract him, getting to his knees and narrowing his eyes. “Perhaps I should explain where you went wrong.”

“No, no, that’s all right, I’ll just-  Ha!  Missed me!”

Arthur threw the other pillow, nearly upsetting the breakfast cart Merlin had wheeled in.

“That was even worse than before.  Must be the lack of exercise getting to you.”

“I’ll show you exercise!” 

Merlin’s laughter echoed from the walls as he dashed away, keeping the bed between them before leaping up onto the mattress when Arthur ran round the foot of it. 

“Come down here and fight like a man,” Arthur laughed, and lunged for his ankles.

Merlin danced back and nearly teetered off the bed.  “Why should I fight like a man if I’m dealing with a royal child?”

“Oh I’m a child, am I?”

“A royal one.”

“Well then.” Arthur pulled the breakfast cart closer and uncovered a plate. “If that’s how it’s to be…”

“Hey!” Merlin laughed, batting away a croissant.  “That’s wasting food!”

“I’m a child, aren’t I?  Here, have another!”

“Arthur, that’s- Not the chocolate ones!” Merlin swore and bent to pick up a pair of croissants, then yelped in surprise as Arthur tackled him to the bed.

After a brief wrestling match, Merlin wound up on his back with Arthur astride his thighs, mashing a chunk of blueberry bread into his face. “Here!  Have some breakfast!”

“Will you just-!” Merlin paused and licked his lips, eyes widening. “That’s delicious!”

“By all means have some more!”

Merlin grabbed at the scone in Arthur’s hand, wrestling him for it until it was ground into crumbs, both of them shoving handfuls of the remnants into whatever face and hair they could reach.

Arthur ended it by pinning Merlin’s wrists to the bed, and ducking to kiss his blueberry stained lips.  A tactic he should have used long ago.  Because it was both pleasurable and effective.

When he leaned back, Merlin smiled up at him with such joy that his eyes turned crescent shaped and crinkled at the corners.  Crumbs of scone dotted his black hair, and trails of chocolate smeared his sharp cheeks, and all that mixed with Merlin’s joy made him look the most beautiful Arthur could ever remember seeing him.

“You have chocolate up your nose,” Merlin said.

Arthur huffed out a laugh.  “Well.  You have at least two scones in your hair.  And half a blueberry muffin on your mouth.”

Merlin licked at his lips.  “Mmm.  Tasty.”

“Selfish of you not to share,” Arthur scolded, and kissed him again, this time slow and thorough.

“Feel free to keep sampling,” Merlin said when he was done.

 “Leave it to you to turn pastry into something filthy.”

“Nothing wrong with breakfast in bed.  Well.  Except for the orange juice.  Bit sticky, that.”

The suggestive look Merlin was giving him had Arthur scowling down at his crumb speckled face. “Have you done something like this before?”

“No.”

Arthur gave him a look.

“Well.  All right, yes.  But not exactly like this.”

“How not exactly?”

“There was food involved, yes. But not… throwing it.”

“So then… eating it?”

“Eventually.”

Arthur just stared at him.

Merlin looked down at his waist, then back at Arthur, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Suggesting what, Arthur had no idea. 

Merlin cocked his head to the side, noticing his confusion.  “Oh come on.  Like you never had a little fun with someone during breakfast in bed.”

“I’ve eaten breakfast in bed many times before.  Which you should know, because you were the one who served it to us.”

“Eating breakfast in bed is not what I mean.”

“Well then what?”

“Oh no.  Not this time.  I am not explaining this to you.  You’ll just have to look it up on the internet instead.”

“Look what up on the internet?”

“Start by searching for ‘How to have fun with food in bed’.  And be sure to ignore anything that requires clothing.”

It took Arthur a moment to catch up.  “You mean- That sort of thing… really is on the internet?”

“Would you like a few minutes alone with your mobile so you can see?”

“Shut up,” Arthur said, and shifted to sit upon the edge of the bed by their breakfast tray, because damn it, he had been thinking that, and now he was blushing again.  

Merlin sat next to him, chuckling softly to himself as he helped himself to the still warm plates of eggs and sausages and breads. 

When Arthur heard him chuckle to himself for the fifth time, he pointed at Merlin’s hair.  “You have half a muffin in your rat’s nest of hair.”

“I’m saving it for later.”

“Your face is covered with it too.  Smear of blueberry, right on your… There. That’s got it.   A shame, really.  Brought out the blue of your eyes.”

“So you notice the blue of my eyes, do you?” Merlin teased.

Yes, Arthur wanted to say.  I do. It reminds me of clear skies over our castle. And of the sea that summer day I had meant to die for you.

“Arthur?”

Arthur shoved a forkful of egg in his mouth, to keep back the other embarrassing things he wanted to say.  “So what did the museum want this morning anyway?”

“More of the same.  Questions about the Brittonic to Old English phonic shifts, and how they-“

“Ah yes, phonic shifts,” Arthur said, in the same feigned tone of interest that he’d often wielded at court, usually after one of Leon’s speeches.

“Oh please,” Merlin said, clearly not having it for a moment, likely because he’d seen Arthur use that trick one too many times.  “You have no idea what a phonic shift is.”

“It has to do with languages.  All of which I am able to speak fluently.  Unlike your lady friend at the museum.  Who can speak only… what, four?  Five?”

“You can ask her when we see her this afternoon.”

“After we visit the Tower of London.”

“Yes, after that.  Then, when she’s done with her questions, we can do whatever we want.  She won’t need me after that.”

“Oh _won’t_ she.”

The chime of Merlin’s mobile cut off his response.

“Who’s _that_ I wonder?” Arthur muttered.

“It’s Cassandra.  She’s just invited me to dinner.  Huh.  That’s strange.  There’s no mention of you being invited to tag along…”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s mobile.  The last text was indeed from Cassandra.  It said: “Yes, it’s a fascinating derivative of Proto Celtic.”

“Your face!” Merlin burst out, his laughter loud in the room.

This time Arthur knocked the tray to the floor as he pushed Merlin down to the bed.  “That wasn’t funny!”

“It was _definitely_ funny.  Look at how angry your eyebrows are right now!”

Arthur grabbed the hand Merlin had pointed at him, and shoved it down to the bed.  At the rough handling, Merlin stilled, eyes growing dark, breaths speeding up.

With a slow feral smile, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s other wrist, and pressed it down next to his head.

“Jealous arse,” Merlin said, squirming beneath his weight, tension sparking between them.

From somewhere on the floor, a text alert chimed twice.

“It’s probably Cassie,” Merlin said, eyes narrowing in challenge, his voice low and hoarse. 

Arthur’s breathing sped up, jealousy scraping against desire, pressing against his restraint.

From the floor came another chime.

“I really should answer her,” Merlin said, blatantly provoking him, fanning the embers of desire sizzling beneath Arthur’s skin. “I mean…. We both know how badly she needs me-“

Arthur silenced him with a kiss, tongue licking away the words, mouth sealed wet and hot over his own.

The next text chime had Arthur shifting, to suck a mark onto Merlin’s neck, right where smooth skin met strong shoulder.

“Yes,” Merlin sighed, and arched with a groan beneath him, fingertips digging into Arthur’s back, legs parting to allow Arthur to settle between them. “Holy _hell_ , I need to make you jealous more often-“

“Don’t you _dare_.”

“Not really changing my mind with what you’re- Yes, like that, right there, _Arthur_ -“

Arthur sucked another bruise into Merlin’s neck, half mad wanting to _claim_ him, ignoring the shame of his behaviour, like a possessive, primitive barbarian-

“Go ahead,” Merlin choked out, tilting his head even farther. “Leave a mark…”

Arthur breathed out a swear, the permission making him dizzyingly hard, desire flaring hot all through his body.  _Mine_ , he kept thinking, tasting salt and sweat on Merlin’s skin.  _Mine_ - 

“Like that,” Merlin moaned, already writhing beneath him, thighs pressed tight around Arthur’s hips as he ground up against him.  “Oh… _fuck_ ….”

Arthur started pulling off clothes, stripping himself and Merlin both, before collapsing back where he’d been.  Merlin welcomed him with long arms and legs wrapping around him, sweaty and male, coarse hair dragging over against muscles, cocks sliding hot and hard together, still not enough.

“Here,” Merlin choked out, pressing something cold to his hand. 

Arthur blinked over at Merlin’s hand.  Saw he was holding a small glass vial of herbal oils.  The _special_ kind he made himself. 

“Will you _hurry_ ,” Merlin scolded, and for once Arthur obeyed, their hands knocking together as bodies were slicked up and readied.

When Arthur slid deep into the head of it, it was with a chest rattling moan right in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin didn’t even notice, fist thumping against Arthur’s back as he arched and groaned beneath him, a litany of Brittonic profanity falling from his lips, as his heels urged Arthur deeper.

Each thrust of Arthur’s hips drove him onward, passion sweeping away civility, desire sending him into madness.  Merlin met each movement, a hand grabbing hard to Arthur’s hair, fingers tightening painfully toward his climax, before he shuddered violently and came.

Merlin’s twitching tipped Arthur over, and he moaned low and helpless in the relentless pleasure, muscles flexing long after the first piercing rush, hips rocking still against Merlin’s body.

It took a while for Arthur to catch his breath.  When he did, he started to move away.

“Not yet?” Merlin asked, and squeezed his legs around Arthur’s waist, pressing soft kisses along Arthur’s jaw, as tender as if they’d just made love.

Arthur shifted only enough to look down at him, to discover Merlin’s radiant smile.  His black hair stuck out at all angles, his face was shining with sweat, and his pale skin was splotchy everywhere, as red as his kissed swollen lips. 

He was a beautiful picture of debauchery, laid out like banquet Arthur had only just begun to learn how to sample.

“I should make you jealous more often,” Merlin said, looking like the cat who’d got the cream.

Arthur just stared, incredulous. 

Merlin arched a wicked eyebrow in response.

“You are…” Arthur choked out a laugh, utterly baffled.

“Amazing?  Irresistible?”

“Incomprehensible.”

“Such a big word, for how little blood you have in your brain right now.  I’m pretty sure I can tell it’s somewhere else instead.” 

Arthur drew in a sharp breath as Merlin shifted his hips, dragging their bodies together where they were still joined. 

“Though not as much as before,” Merlin said, and glanced down.

“Were you always like this?” Arthur asked in a rush, but then snapped his mouth shut in horror, because good lord he did not want to know about Merlin’s past bed partners.

“Only ever with you.”

He’d sounded shy, and his voice had broken as well, so Arthur lowered his head to rest his forehead against Merlin’s.  “Yes.  Just like I’ve only been this way with you.”

“Good,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur wondered if he’d been meant to hear.  “You truly are a wonder.”

“Glad you finally figured it out.”

Arthur could feel himself growing soft within Merlin’s warm body.  A strange sensation, and one he’d not felt before.  He’d never clung on like this with Guinevere after they’d finished with one another.  But then, almost no aspect of his physical relationship with Merlin was like it had been with her. 

Merlin sighed as he lay contentedly beneath him, unbothered by Arthur’s weight upon his body.  For a while, he just rand his hands up and down Arthur’s bare back, nose pressed into his neck.  But finally, when Arthur had shifted again, he laughed, just a breath of a thing against Arthur’s skin.  “Oh go on.  Get comfortable.”

Arthur carefully shifted to Merlin’s side, cringing at the mess they’d made, brushing off crumbs that were sticking to his skin.

Merlin picked a piece of scone off the sheets and popped it into his mouth, smiling at Arthur’s disgusted expression.  “No point letting it go to waste,” he pointed out, and stretched out upon the bed, long arms stretching over his head, completely unembarrassed by his nudity in the broad daylight.

Upon Merlin’s neck, Arthur saw a purpling mark had formed, quite obvious, over where his shirt collar would be. “There’s a…  Right there I mean… ”

“Left a mark, did you?” Merlin asked, apparently unbothered by it, judging by his playful smile.   “Well.  That’s all right.  I’ll take care of it before we leave.”

“The same way you got the bottle of oil, you mean?”

Merlin gave him an oddly shy smile.  “I didn’t want you to stop what you were doing.”

Arthur gave a breath of a laugh.  “Who knew that magic could be so useful in the bedroom?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Are there…”  Arthur licked his lips.  Cleared his throat.  “There’s… bedroom uses?  For magic?”

“I might have done. Over the centuries. With you in mind, I mean.”

Arthur stared wide eyed at the ceiling, a dizzying array of new possibilities vying for attention in his thoughts, each one more startlingly arousing than the last.

“If you’re interested,” Merlin was quick to add.

“Yes!  I mean…  Yes. Indeed.  That would be interesting.  To see what else you’re capable of.”  He looked over, and found Merlin smiling at him.  “Unless that’s something I can read about on the internet,” he added, to try and salvage what left of his dignity.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“All right then,” Arthur said absently, already trying to think of the filthy things Merlin had in mind.

Merlin chuckled and stretched out on the bed, yawning luxuriously, muscles flexing, naked and beautiful and so distracting that Arthur grabbed the blankets to wipe himself down. If he kept looking, they were never going to make it out of the bed.

“You’d better go and get dressed,” Arthur told him.  “The Tower of London awaits.  And the British Museum as well.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.  It will let me finish looking at the Egyptian area.”

“I should have known you’d like the pharaohs,” Merlin told him, as he got up.

Arthur tucked an arm behind his head and watched Merlin walk away, his pale backside dotted with red marks in the shapes of Arthur’s fingertips.

He hoped Merlin wouldn’t notice them in the shower. He rather liked the idea of them being there all day. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Though Merlin suggested they travel by Underground, Arthur could see his relief when he called down to William to arrange a car.  

They waited outside in the sun for the driver, jackets left back in their flat, comfortable in the mild summer’s day in jeans and t-shirts.  Arthur glanced down at Merlin’s hips.  Wondered if he had his mother’s sigil in his pocket.   But he could see no sign of it anywhere.  Only the shape of his mobile. 

When the car arrived, another formally dressed driver got out, and held open the door for each of them. 

After Arthur got himself settled in the back seat, he watched Merlin climb in the opposite side and sit down with a wince.

“What?” Merlin asked, noticing Arthur’s smile.

“Is your little bottom sore?” Arthur asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

Merlin scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh _please_.  It would take more than that.”

Arthur felt himself flush, more aroused than embarrassed, which was shocking for more reasons than he could count. 

“You’ll just have to try _harder_ next time,” Merlin said, letting his gaze slide down to Arthur’s crotch, because he was a shameless harlot with no sense of decorum and Arthur wanted to claim him that very moment. 

“Shut up,” Arthur said, strangled, and shifted in his seat.

“If you want,” Merlin said, clearly sensing his advantage, ”I’ll even give you a few pointers-“

“I don’t need _pointers_ ,” Arthur lied, and looked out of the car window, as the driver drove them from the hotel.

Back in Camelot, Arthur had known men could give each other pleasure. Of course he had.  But back then, he’d only spared it a passing thought.  Now, he found he wanted to know everything.  To know it, to feel it, to and to share the feeling to Merlin.  Because with Merlin, he felt reborn in his own skin.  A world of pleasure opened up to him, ready to explore.

“Twenty minutes,” Merlin said, poking at his phone.  “That’s how long until we get to the Tower in this traffic.”

Arthur watched a new alert message flash on Merlin’s screen. “Why isn’t it making the texting sound?”

“I turned the chime off, so his royal pratness wouldn’t throw my mobile out of the car window.”

“The chime was only bothering me because I was trying to sleep.”

“That is not the only reason that-” Merlin startled as his mobile rang in his hand.

“Don’t tell me it’s _that woman_ again.  Gods’ sakes, will you tell her to leave us alone?  Or at least wait until we’re done with our part of the day, before she prattles on with her incessant questions.”

“Merlin?” came the woman’s voice, rather loudly.

Merlin held the device away from his ear, frowning at it.   “Cassie?”

“I think you might have the speakerphone turned on?”

“Is it?”

“I think so.”

Merlin poked at the screen, then returned the device to his ear. “Is that better?  Ah.  Great.  Sorry about the, uh, radio,” he said, and glared over at Arthur.

“ _Spying_ ,” Arthur ground out in humiliation, and glared out the window.

Their entire journey to the Tower, Merlin talked with Cassandra, occasionally pronouncing words in Brittonic, or speaking with great passion about diphthongs and vowel shifts.

By the time Merlin hung up, the car was driving across Tower Bridge, and the Tower of London loomed ahead.

“Cassie said to say hello,” Merlin told him, and tucked away his mobile.

“She most certainly did _not_.”

“No,” Merlin agreed gleefully.  “She really didn’t.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The car let them out by a stone castle with rounded turrets, a dry moat and thick walls its protection.

“Now that,” Arthur said, “is a sensible castle.”

“Definitely more practical than Buckingham Palace.”

“Arrow slit windows, an imposing central citadel, and I’m assuming the lawn was a moat... Did they use the Thames as a water source?  How did they deal with the tides?  When did that fall into disrepair?”

“Tell you what, sire,” Merlin said brightly, “why don’t we go in and find out.”

After the indignity of queueing up and getting tickets, Arthur followed Merlin down the cobblestone lane, jostled at every side by the throngs of tourists, all come to see this ancient place.

As they passed through the gate, Merlin started reciting facts, about the castle, and its owners, and the history of the city. 

Arthur let the words wash over him, distracted by the sight of glass and steel skyscrapers towering above the old stone of the White Tower. 

It’s like me, Arthur thought.  This castle, this tower. Useful, in its day.  But only a curiosity now.  To be visited, and marvelled at, but not to be used.  Not as it was meant.

“Arthur?”

Arthur tore his gaze away from the skyscrapers, found Merlin standing there amid the tourists, dark brows pulled curiously together, mobile held up in front of him, forgotten.  “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you want to see the armoury.  Are you-?”

“Yes, an excellent idea.  Perhaps we can even find you some armour to polish.”

“I am not polishing armour.  Doing yours was bad enough.”

“Oh, as if you didn’t use magic to do it when I wasn’t looking.”

“Are you suggesting I used my magic to do my chores?”

“After what you did this morning, I should think so.”

Merlin’s cheeks went pink, and his smile turned coy. “All right, yes.  Once or twice. But only because you gave me too much to do.”

“Well there’s to be no magic here.  I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself.”

“Not to worry, sire!” Merlin said, overly loud.  “No one will even notice me!”

Arthur laughed and pulled Merlin away from the staring tourists, toward the oldest buildings within the thick Tower walls.  The dusty stone corridors smelled familiar, drawing Arthur into memories made strange by the sight of tourists with their modern fashions and phones.

The armoury, he found, was no armoury at all.  He’d been expecting it to be like Camelot.  Well-used weapons and equipment everywhere.  But this rectangular stone hall was more like a museum.  Weapons encased within glass cases.  Full suits of armour standing in a row.  Metal shields bearing crests of kings Arthur didn’t know lining the walls.

Merlin stood staring with disapproval at it all, obviously as unsettled as he.  “Not exactly a proper armoury, is it.”

“Line of Kings,” Arthur read from nearby sign, and wandered over to a tall glass case containing a suit of armour. “Short people, were they?”

Merlin stepped to his side, arms crossing over his chest. “Would you look at all those fastenings?  It would have taken a whole day to get a knight into that.”

“Two, in your case.”

“There must be thirty pieces of metal on that thing.  Forty, if you count the feet!”

“What in the world kind of warfare were they practicing,” Arthur said in distaste, “that would possibly require such extensive armoured protection on the feet?”

“Drunken warfare?”

“Even Gwaine at his most intoxicated wouldn’t have accidentally stabbed a man in the foot.  Do you remember the day he-?”

“That jousting match!  That’s right!  He unhorsed that bloke- Oh- What was his name-?”

“Sir Davin of Engard.  Pompous arse of a man.”

“Even his manservant hated him.  I nearly broke my hands clapping when Gwaine knocked him off his horse-“

“And then threw up on him.” 

Merlin’s laughter echoed from the stone walls, drawing several curious stares.  “Oh my god I forgot that!”

“He did it more than once, remember?  Once when he bent to help Sir Davin up-“

“And again when they were standing!”  Merlin shook his head at the armour, chuckling.  “It must have been hell to clean his chainmail afterward.”

“Maybe this thing really was for drunken warfare, then.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’d be no chainmail to clean.”

Merlin bumped against Arthur’s shoulder, he was giggling so hard.

With the sound, Arthur found new purpose in their visit here.  “Look over here, at this,” he said, and dragged Merlin to a glass case holding a black iron mace the size of a man’s arm.

“Now that,” Merlin noted, “is a mace.”

“That,” Arthur corrected him, “is ludicrous.  Look at how big it is.  Not even Percival could have lifted it.”

“I think the weapons blacksmith was trying to compensate for something.”

“Poor design skills, most likely.”  Arthur bent to study the grip. “Perhaps it was meant to be gripped by two men.”

“Two men?”

“Yes.”

“Gripping the same weapon.”

“Yes, I-“ He glanced over, saw Merlin’s arched eyebrow and wicked grin.  “What?”

“Two men?  Gripping one weapon?  Together?”

Arthur swatted at Merlin’s hands when he started to make a lurid gesture.  “I know what you mean, stop it, there are children here.  Honestly, Merlin, was your mind _always_ in the gutter, even back in Camelot?”

“I don’t think so,” Merlin said uncertainly.

“So this is a new development then?”

“Since the nineteen sixties, at least.  Or was it the sixteen nineties?”

Arthur gave a dramatic sigh and hauled Merlin to the next exhibit.

For the next half hour, they entertained themselves by finding fault in every item they saw; Arthur pointing out the flaws, Merlin lamenting the poor servants who had to deal with it.

“This one’s the worst of all,” Arthur pronounced, gesturing to a shoddy looking suit of armour.

“What’s wrong with this one?” Merlin asked happily.

“Far too heavy, first of all.”

“Of course, of course…”

“And look at these gaps.  At the arm, the hip, the leg…”

“His knee tendons are exposed-“

“I could take his legs out with one swipe of my sword.”

“And that gap at the neck!“

“I’d barely need a meat knife to slit his throat.  And he’d never see it coming wearing that bucket of a helmet.  One blow from a mace would have his brains spattered all over the battlefield-“

“Oh my god!” came a woman’s shrill voice, from where a family was standing nearby. The mother and father were giving them equal looks of dismay, while their two boys tugged at their clothes and asked if they could see people’s heads coming off, because that sounded cool.

“We’re joking,” Arthur told them.

“Entirely joking,” Merlin said, to the few others who had also been listening. “Arthur has never done anything even remotely like that.”

“No, because why would I have?”

“Also we’re from Wales.”

Arthur gave Merlin an incredulous look. “How, exactly, does that help?”

“Well it-“ Merlin stopped and stared over Arthur’s shoulder, where two guards had stopped to study them, and were in clear consultation about what to do.

“Come on, Welshman,” Arthur said, and pulled Merlin from the room.

After a quick jog down a stone staircase, they emerged into the bright sunlight of the Tower Green. The moment they set foot upon the pavement encircling the wide rectangular lawns, Merlin burst out laughing.  “The look on that woman’s face!”

“I shouldn’t be surprised, the things you were saying.”

“Me?  What about you!”

“I was just pointing out facts which any fool could see.”

“Amazing that you saw them, then.”

Arthur ruffled Merlin’s hair, though he’d meant for it to be a cuff on the head. Merlin pretended poorly to be irritated and wound up smiling instead.

Together they walked along the pavements bordering the Tower Green.  Ahead, a group of tourists were following one of those men in their red and black uniforms and enormous hats, listening to him giving a tour.

As the group walked away, Merlin paused by the lawns and pulled out his mobile. “Come on, time for a photo.”

“You and that mobile,” Arthur said, daring to put an arm around Merlin’s back.

Merlin didn’t notice or didn’t mind, holding up his mobile to take several photos of them both, the castle walls and Tower Bridge behind them.  When he’d finished, they wandered back toward the castle green, where several ravens were hopping amid tourists.

“Friendly birds, aren’t they,” Arthur said.

“The Tower Ravens are used to human beings by now.”

“They live here?”

“A good omen for the kingdom, they say.  There’s some rubbish prophecy about England falling if the ravens leave.”

“Prophecy?”

“Not that kind,” Merlin said emphatically, and shoved his mobile into his pocket. 

“Good.  Because I’ve had more than enough of _those_.”  Arthur paused by the low metal gating at the edge of the lawns, watching a raven hop in their direction.  “A shame we don’t have food for him.”

“For _her_ ,” Merlin corrected, and stepped over the barrier.

“I don’t think you’re meant to kneel on the lawns,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin paused, looking over at him.  “Is that my king’s decree?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I’d never have a problem with anyone walking on grass.”

“Exactly,” Merlin said, and crouched down on the lawns, extending a hand to the approaching raven.

Before Arthur could point out the folly of combining fingers with a sharp beak, the raven ducked its head as if bowing, clearly inviting Merlin’s touch.

“Why hello, aren’t you lovely,” Merlin said, as if he were addressing a lady at court.

The raven fluttered its wings and hopped closer, head tipped back with feathers fluffing up.

“Is this where it itches?” Merlin asked, and gently scratched at the bird’s chest.

“First toads,” Arthur sighed, “and then fish, and now birds.  Is there any animal you don’t get on with?”

“Swans,” Merlin said.

“Swans?”

“They’re self-important, narcissistic, nasty… You’d get on with them, actually.”

“Nice,” Arthur said, watching Merlin sit back on his heels, both hands extended now, to greet even more ravens.  

“So,” Merlin said to the group, “how are you all doing?”

The ravens all started cawing, deep and throaty and loud. 

Merlin nodded as it continued, clearly growing displeased by what he heard. “Is it the same for you two?” he asked two newly arrived birds.

The two newcomers cawed at length, both ducking their heads beneath Merlin’s hands, until he scratched at their feathers.

“So you can’t fly at all,” Merlin said, abruptly furious.

“Can’t fly?” Arthur asked.  “What do you mean, they can’t fly?”

Merlin held out his palm, and the closest raven stretched out a wing, black feathers fanning over pale skin.  “See right here?  Their jailors clip one of their wings.  Makes them off balance.  Keeps them from flying.”

“I’d hardly call them jailors.”  Only a short distance away, one of the Yardsmen stood in his ridiculous jester uniform and hat, clearly entertaining the crowd.

“If you can’t leave a place, then you’re a prisoner,” Merlin said bitterly.  “And here I thought they didn’t keep prisoners in the Tower anymore.”

One of the ravens wobbled over to where Arthur stood, then stopped and stared up at him, dark eyes far too knowing.

“They seem well tended to,” Arthur said.  “Certainly not lacking on food.”

The raven cawed up at him.

“No offense,” Arthur added.  And then frowned at himself. 

“Well tended to,” Merlin muttered, soothing at the bird’s feathers.  “What does it matter, how well a prisoner is tended in his cage?  Being a bird is all about flying.  Them living with their wings clipped is like…  It’s like…  Me living with magic inside me, but not being able to use it.”

Arthur thought of Camlann.  Of facing the Saxons without Merlin by his side.  Because Morgana had taken away his gifts.  Taken away his ability to protect his king.

A crowd had gathered, all of them staring.  Arthur saw mobiles in people’s hands.  Taking photos.  Taking video.  A far too public display.  He’d be an idiot to suggest to Merlin what he was thinking.

“It’s not right,” Merlin said, sounding choked, his fingers shaking as they caressed black feathers.

Arthur heaved a loud sigh.  “Oh hell.”

Merlin looked up, confused.

“Can you help them?” Arthur asked. 

“I- yes?”

“Do they want you to?  Ask them, Merlin.  Quickly.”

Merlin frowned at him, then turned to the birds.  “I can help you fly again. Would you want that?”

The cacophony of caws and fluttering wings was a clear enough answer to Arthur even without Merlin translating. 

“They say yes,” Merlin said, sounding stunned.  “As long as they can keep living here.  The keepers actually are good to them.  They just want to be able to fly.”

“All right then.  Go ahead.”

“But you said I shouldn’t draw attention to myself,” Merlin said, looking torn.

Arthur thought again of Merlin standing in his chambers in Camelot.  Those days before Camlann.  Saying ‘I’m not coming with you’.  Looking more helpless than Arthur had ever seen.

“It must be awful,” Arthur said through a tight throat. “To be a bird... and not to fly.”

The sunlight sparkled in Merlin’s eyes as he smiled, joyful and relieved.  “You mean it?”

“Yes, I mean it.”  Arthur glanced around, noticed they were already being noticed, Merlin sitting there before his court of Tower Ravens. “But hurry up.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and turned to the birds.  “Okay, is this all of you?”

Another loud cawing had Arthur glancing back, to see two Yarders in urgent discussion, pointing to them.

Merlin brushed his fingertips over the chest feathers of each bird, whispering something that set the hairs on Arthur’s arms standing up.  It lasted but a second, before Merlin got smoothly to his feet. “All right then, you lot!  Off you go!”

The ravens launched themselves into the air with a joyous flapping of wings and cacophony of caws, louder even than the excited shouts of the tourists in the courtyard.

“Oi!” one of the Yarders yelled.

Arthur watched the man trying to move through the staring crowd, his hat nearly getting knocked off his head as even more mobiles lifted to capture the spectacle above. 

“Look how happy they are!” Merlin laughed.

“Yes, it’s lovely, now come on,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin toward the pavement.

“You there, stop!” yelled the Yardsman, holding onto his hat now, as he tried to get through the crowds. 

Arthur gave the man a tight lipped smile and a wave, then nearly pitched forward when Merlin tripped over the low grating and stumbled into his back.

“Oi!” the man called after them.  “What did you do my birds!”

“They’re not your birds!” Merlin yelled back, as two more uniformed men started after them. “They belong to no one but themselves!”

“You know, Merlin,” Arthur said tightly, as he shouldered through the gawping tourists, “this would be an excellent time for a one of your distractions.”

“Whatever you say, sire!” Merlin said, and glanced at a nearby flagpole.

Both its pennants broke loose, each landing upon a Yardsman’s head.

Arthur paused when he saw them flailing beneath the cloth.  “Wait a second!  I’ve seen that before!“

Merlin laughed and pulled at Arthur’s arm.  “Come along, my lord-“

“You did that to me!” Arthur burst out, indignant.  “That night in my bed chambers!  When my gold was stolen!  That was you!”

“I have no idea what you mean!” Merlin said, sounding very much like he did, and wasn’t the least bit sorry for what he’d done.

“My own guards had to untangle me from my bed curtains!  Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin said through laughter, and tugged at him.

Arthur wanted to smack him but couldn’t manage it, too busy trying to avoid being trampled by the crowds heading toward the cheers and applause behind them.  By the time they exited the courtyard he’d lost the urge, too caught up in Merlin’s obvious joy.

They stopped on the bridge crossing the dry Tower moat, Merlin smiling up at the ravens soaring above the Thames. “Enjoy yourselves!”

Merlin’s eyes were bluer than the skies above, and so filled with joy that Arthur couldn’t even summon a properly scolding tone. “You’re going to be insufferably smug for the rest of the day, aren’t you.”

Merlin grinned proudly, sunlight catching upon his cheekbones.  “Me?  Smug?”

Arthur choked out a laugh.  “Ridiculous man.”

“I’m not ridiculous.”

“You just caused a riot over a bunch of birds.”

“You told me I could.  And anyway, what’s wrong with birds?  Quite nice, birds.  Very hospitable.”

“Hospitable?”

“To me, anyway.  That one summer I spent as a bird.”

“You were… a bird.”

“A merlin, actually.  I thought it was appropriate.”

Arthur opened his mouth.  Closed it again.  Shook his head and started walking toward the outer gate.

“Oh look, ice cream!” Merlin said, and trotted toward the vendor.

Arthur followed after him, wondering at the madness that was his life, and then wondering when he’d grown so much to love it.

When Merlin had finished his desert, they returned to the castle, this time heading straight up onto the wall, well away from the discussions of the Yarders taking place in the courtyard. 

The Thames flowed along the Tower’s banks, the river breeze warm with summer, the sky above a deep blue.  Several times Merlin pointed across the water, describing the buildings opposite the shimmering water.

 “The city really is beautiful in its own way,” Merlin said, as they stood looking out over the river.

Arthur stared at Merlin’s strong profile, at black hair shifting across sharp cheekbones with the wind, at pale skin glowing with summer sun.  “Quite beautiful.”

Merlin looked over at him sharply. 

Arthur turned away, clearing his throat.  “Too crowded, though.”

“You really didn’t spend enough time in the Lower Town,” Merlin pointed out, as they started walking again.  “Market Day… Now that was crowded.”

“Yes, yes, and stinking to high heaven, you’ve mentioned.” Arthur ducked beneath a low doorway, stepping through the stone gate and onto the next section of wall, overlooking a wide lawn below.  “But the Lower town didn’t have…”

Merlin walked into his back.  “Arthur, what-?”

Arthur could hear Merlin’s sharp breath, as he stopped by his side, overlooking the spectacle below.

Upon the lawns where the moat had been, a dozen colorful tents had been erected, their flags waving cheerily upon them.  It was some sort of fair.  Many people were wandering around in ancient dress.  Some even wore armour.  Though most were clearly tourists, spending a lovely day with their families in the summer sun.

In the middle of the revelry, in the midst of the laughter, stood a wooden platform. 

Upon it was a guillotine.  And an axeman’s chopping block.  And at the end, a wooden post, kindling piled all around it. 

In front of it all stood a Yardsman, describing in great detail the many ways traitors had been put to death at the command of great kings.

Arthur drew in a breath, not even realizing that he’d been holding it, his attention consumed by the sight of the pyre.  “They still used it,” he said, rough, as if he’d just stood in the smoke.  “They still… burned people.”

“Yeah.  For a long time.”

Fear twisted Arthur’s stomach, more intensely than it had in years. “Merlin, did you… ever…” He couldn’t finish the question.  Just nodded at the platform. 

“Have my head on a chopping block, you mean?”

It wasn’t what he’d meant.  But he couldn’t find the words-

“No.  Never the block.”

“But something else,” Arthur forced out.

“The noose,” Merlin said on a weary sigh. “That century I was… not myself.  Cowards knocked me out while I was sleeping. Hung me with an iron chain.  Or so I was told.  I don’t remember it much.”

Arthur tasted bile in his mouth, and swallowed hard. “And… the pyre?”

“No.”  A long pause.  “Well…  Almost, once.  After that time in Camelot, I mean.”

A strangled sound choked from Arthur’s chest, barely human in its despair, because the thought of it, of _almost_ -

He could picture it, too well.  Had too many memories to do otherwise. Men shouting their revenge to their last screaming breaths. The sick sound of skin crackling and burning.  The screams of the loved ones from the crowd.  All too easily he could remember.  All too easily he could see Merlin there, surrounded by fire-

“We’re leaving,” Arthur choked out, grabbing Merlin by the arm, pulling him back toward the gatehouse.

All his life he’d been prepared for violence.  All his life he’d been hardened against death.  To meet his own, at the end of a sword.  To dole it out, as king. But never had he been prepared for this.  For the violent past to rip apart the joy of the unexpected present, as the death of the man he loved was played out under a summer sun.

Merlin let himself be pulled along as Arthur stormed down the castle wall, rushing forward as if an enemy were at his back.

They’d nearly reached the Tower’s outer gate when Arthur found his way blocked by a large influx of young people, talking and laughing together, mobiles out and taking photos of themselves, there before the castle. 

Arthur bumped into someone’s shoulder, and for a moment, was separated from Merlin in the crowd.  With a panic he hadn’t known since his first days returned from the dead, Arthur shoved his way back to Merlin, this time grabbing him by the hand.

“Arthur-“ Merlin began, clearly ready to scold him for his rudeness.

“The river,” Arthur demanded.  “I want to see the river.”

Merlin’s protest was lost as Arthur dragged him along, away from the madness of the castle in this modern city, toward the refuge of the water.

Only when he reached the pavement along the Thames did Arthur finally let go.  He collapsed forward against the iron gating between pavement and river, hands grabbing hold of cold metal, chest pressed against it, half bent over.

Below him the swift water flowed past, but Arthur saw only Merlin on the platform.  Merlin in the noose.  Merlin upon the pyre.   He couldn’t get the images out of his head.  Of the axe.  The rope.  The flame-

Merlin pressed to Arthur’s side, a hand strong upon his back, palm rubbing up and down, unexpectedly intimate, and blessedly welcome, here in this public place.

Arthur nodded his gratitude, afraid he would lose his breakfast in the Thames if he spoke. 

The last time he’d been affected by violence like this, he’d been twelve years old and at Father’s side on the battlefield, a bloodied sword in his hand.

“Well done, Arthur,” his father had said, his smile broad and blood spattered, actually proud of him for once, as the dead man’s guts had dripped from Arthur’s blade.  Though his pride had quickly turned to disapproval, when Arthur had dropped to his knees and got sick all over the grass.  But then, Father never had been proud of him for very long.

“Breathe,” Merlin urged, sounding worried.

“I am breathing.”

“I meant breathe slower.”

“I’m supposed to tell you that.”

“Well who do suppose I learned it from?”  As if to emphasize his point, Merlin rested his palm on the back of Arthur’s sweat soaked neck, just as Arthur often did for him. 

Arthur focused on the sensation, of skin pressing to skin, of fingers sliding along tense muscles  Slowly, he got himself back under control.

When he was certain he wouldn’t lose his breakfast, Arthur lifted his head and stared at Tower Bridge.

“It was a long time ago,” Merlin said.

“I should have been there.  I should have protected you.”

“I should have protected you first.”

The same guilt and regret shone in Merlin’s eyes, as it had done so often. Both after his return, and before.

Damn it, Arthur thought.  What am I doing?  I’m dragging both of us backwards.  Again.

He straightened, tugging at his shirt, forcing his chin up and shoulders back.  He was a king, by all the gods.  Even if his kingdom was a country that didn’t know him, even if he never wore the crown again, he could do better than this.  He would do better than this, for Merlin. 

“I’ve seen enough of this place,” Arthur announced with a calmness he didn’t feel.  “Let’s go find a pub.”

 “A pub?”

“That’s what they call them these days, a pub, not a tavern-”

“Yes, they… I just mean… You want to eat?”

I want to drink, Arthur thought emphatically.  But he nodded, gesturing for Merlin to guide them, away from the distorted masquerade of their past, and back into the chaos of the present.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They wound up in a pub a short distance away, its dingy front door and peeling paint upon its wooden sign likely the cause of the unoccupied tables and chairs inside.

Arthur didn’t care, striding with relief into the quiet interior, grateful for the relative peace.  As Merlin went to order, he sat at a table in the farthest, darkest corner, leaning back heavily against the wood-adorned wall. 

When Merlin returned with their drinks, he immediately started prattling on about their day, happily recounting the things they’d seen and done.  He omitted any mention of the Tower.  Obviously not wanting to think on his king’s inexcusable weakness. 

Arthur understood that all too well, and immediately went about trying to forget it himself, by downing one glass of ale after another.

Somewhere around Arthur’s fourth drink- or maybe his fifth- and good lord these things were strong-  he tried to grab one of Merlin’s chips, but instead knocked over his glass of water. 

Merlin shoved his chair back and mopped at the mess, giving Arthur a stern look.  “Are you drunk?”

“I’m perfectly sober,” Arthur slurred out.

Merlin snorted his disbelief and stood up, moving to Arthur’s side.  “Come on, you’ve had enough. The car should be outside by now anyway.”

“What car?”

“The hotel car?  Which you told me to call not five minutes ago?”

“You’re making that up,” Arthur said, staggering as Merlin hauled him up, the room tilting around him. “Gods above- The _hell_ did they put in my ale?”

“I’ve no idea,” Merlin said, and pulled Arthur toward the door. 

“They really do make it stronger these days.”

“As you say, sire.”

“They do,” Arthur insisted, and shoved open the door, making a show of striding out on his own, toward a black car that was awaiting them by the kerb.

A tall driver wearing a hotel uniform stood by the passenger door, and nodded at his approach.  “My lords.” 

“It’s the man who looks like Leon,” Arthur said to Merlin, only realizing he’d been staring when Merlin pushed him into the open car door.  When he sat down hard on the seat, he blinked up at the man.  “It’s not an insult, you know. Tell him, Merlin.”  He looked over, realised Merlin wasn’t there yet, and waited until Merlin climbed in to finish.  “Tell him it’s not an insult.  Leon, I mean.  But… not Leon.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him as he closed his car door.  “Did you sneak another pint when I went to the loo?”

“No,” Arthur lied.  “And honestly, the nerve, accusing me of such deception.”  He looked up at the driver.  “Can you believe him?”

“My lord, if you please…?”

Arthur glanced down. Realised he hadn’t pulled his leg into the car.  Pushed himself fully into the seat. “You may close the door now.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man told him, and shut the car door.

“He really does look like Leon,” Arthur said, as Merlin reached over to do up his security belt.  “Do you remember Leon’s hair?”

“Of course I remember Leon’s hair.  He was the second biggest peacock about it in Camelot. Right after Gwaine.”

As Merlin adjusted the safety belt over his shoulder, Arthur leaned forward and sniffed his hair. “You smell like chips.”

“Well you stink of ale.”

Arthur ignored the insult, reaching up to thread his fingers through the thick strands above Merlin’s neck.  “Soft,” he murmured, and let his eyes fall closed, which was a horrible mistake, because when the car started forward he swayed in his seat.

Merlin steadied him with a warm hand upon his shoulder. “Exactly how drunk are you?”

Arthur ignored the question, tightening his fingers in Merlin’s hair, not missing the sharply indrawn breath in response. “You should cut this.  Make it like it was in Camelot.  I never got to feel it like that.”

“All those times you put me in a headlock?” Merlin asked, his cheek dragging rough against Arthur’s, as the car moved down the street. “You must have done, at least once.”

“Not like this,” Arthur insisted, and pulled him close.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, and glanced at the driver.

“He’s not looking,” Arthur said, and pressed a sloppy kiss to Merlin’s lips, desire slicing through his gut at the wet slide of it.  But when he tried to take things further, Merlin leaned away.

“Later,” Merlin said, and shoved a bottle of water into Arthur’s hand.  “Here, drink this. If you don’t, you’ll get a massive headache, and be even more of a pillock than you already are.”

Arthur grumbled at him but drank it down, as Merlin shifted to buckle himself into his own seat.  When he’d finished drinking, he threw the empty bottle at Merlin’s head.

“That,” Merlin told him, “is not behaving.”

Arthur grumbled in petulant disagreement, then closed his eyes, drifting.

He awoke to the feeling of being shaken.  He tried to sit up, but a pressure against his chest had him falling back against the seat.

When he squinted past Merlin out the window, he saw the British Museum beyond.  The black metal gates were closed, the courtyard empty. 

“I waited as long as I could,” Merlin said. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Arthur protested, cringing at his own voice, barely able to speak through the cotton in his mouth.

“Right, you weren’t sleeping.  Or snoring.  For an hour.”

“An hour?”  Arthur winced again, rubbed at his temple. 

“If you need to keep sleeping-“

“I’m fine,” Arthur told him, and climbed out into searing daylight.

A museum guard met them and ushered them inside, through halls occupied only by cleaning staff, doing their tidying.  In the absence of people, the museum was even more impressive.  Silence and history surrounded Arthur at every turn as they moved through the displays, onward to the Reading Room.

Cassandra greeted them only a few steps inside the massive Reading Room, today wearing a tight green dress, with different black framed glasses upon her nose, her long blonde hair in a stylish braid down her back.

“Awake finally, I see?” she asked Arthur, with a knowing smile.

Arthur glared at Merlin, who looked unrepentant at blabbing about his embarrassing nap.

“I had to explain,” Merlin insisted.  “We were sitting outside the museum for an hour like a couple of thieves.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Arthur informed Cassandra.

“Of course not,” Cassandra said, amusement obvious in her eyes. “But that reminds me- Since you got here after opening hours, you’ll be needing this.”

Arthur took the circular length of rope she held out to him, and studied the white rectangular card that hung upon it.  “What’s this?”

“It’s an identification card.  You’ll need to wear it, so the staff know who you are.  It’s a part of the new security measures.  And it should also help avoid any… misunderstandings, as well.”

Arthur heard the reprimand behind her words, and shoved the plastic card into his jeans pocket.  He’d only started to leave when Merlin moved to his side, a hand upon his arm, clearly troubled.

“Merlin,” Cassandra called, “could you start with the Brittonic team?  They really need to know about those phonics we were texting about…”

“Go ahead, Merlin,” Arthur said sweetly.  “Your court is waiting.”

“Arthur-“

Arthur shook his arm free and strode from the room, not even sparing a single look back.

Not five minutes later, he was stopped by the museum guards, not once but twice in the same exhibit hall. Reluctantly he slung the stupid rope around his neck.  “So people know who I am,” he muttered, and stalked off through the exhibits.

For a long while he wandered among the past, amid passing guards and cleaning staff.  Without the crowds, he took his time to study the artefacts.  Reading about the violent history of the lands beyond Albion. 

His exploration brought him, finally, to the Egyptian Room, where he stood, once again, before the massive statue of Ramses.

The ancient ruler towered above him, his torso the size of Merlin’s car, his imperious face echoing the arrogance of kings. 

“You ruled an empire,” Arthur said to the pharaoh. “Your kingdom was far greater than my own.  And yet I am here.  And you are not.”

He still had no idea why.  Of all the dead kings, and pharaohs, and emperors, whose legacies now lay in pieces, why had he been chosen -  by magic, by his mother, by Merlin - to be worthy of standing here, outside of his own time.

“Why me,” Arthur asked, “and not you?”

The merciless stone ruler gave no reply, just stared empty eyed across the gallery, its secrets its own.

Nearby, the sound of a throat clearing, courtesy of the guard who’d been standing in the doorway.

For just a moment, Arthur considered explaining his behaviour.  But then realised he didn’t want to.  He was tired of explaining himself.  Tired of trying to fit in.  Tired of it all.

He left the gallery without saying anything, thinking only of how quickly they could return to the hotel, so he could have a hot bath, in as much silence as this madhouse of a city could grant him.

Guards stopped him at the door to the Reading Room, and he had to show his damn name badge again, practically shoving it into the man’s face.  When he’d been allowed to enter the room, he found himself stepping into a scene of chaos.

Several dozen museum researchers jogged from desk to desk, to speak with others who sat amid laptops and stacks of papers.  At least a dozen more museum researchers stood upon the platform, listening intently to where Merlin was reading aloud from one of his books.

Though the passage was rather boring, describing a journey through the forest, everyone was listening with rapt attention.  Several men and women with grey hair actually had tears in their eyes, one old woman even holding her wrinkled hand to her mouth, as if holding back a sob. 

When Merlin glanced up and noticed Arthur standing there, he stopped reading, much to the vocal protests of those around him.  It took him a while to make his excuses, smiling and shaking hands with most of those upon the platform in order to make his way to where Arthur waited.

“Sorry it took so long,” Merlin told him.

“Well at least it’s done with now.”

“Right.  Um.  About that-”

“Lord Hunithson!” came a woman’s small voice nearby. 

It was the older woman who had been upon the platform.  Tears were running down her thin face from behind thick black glasses, though she wiped at them with wrinkled fingers.

Merlin slouched and ducked his head so she didn’t have to look up at him quite so sharply.  “Are you all right Meredith?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.  I just want to thank you again for helping us.  You honestly have no idea what this means to us, to our country, to the world…”

“You have no idea what it means to me, either, trust me.  I’m just glad to help.”

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am you’re letting us impose upon your holiday.  But I am so looking forward to your insight tomorrow into the language used in those final passages.  We’d be lost without you!”

As soon as she’d hurried away, Arthur turned to face Merlin, his arms crossed.  “Tomorrow?”

“Right, see, about that-”

“Don’t bother,” Arthur snapped, already striding from the room, his head throbbing harder with every step, irritation prickling beneath his skin.  At the front door of the museum he thrust his badge at the guard.  Once he was allowed exit onto the portico, he immediately chucked it into the bin.

“You might need that tomorrow,” Merlin said.

“Ah, yes, tomorrow.”  

“It’s just once more, I swear-“

“You said that about today.”

“I know, it’s just-“

“We’re supposed to be on holiday!”

“We will be!  After the gala, the books get published on the internet, which is why the team needs their answers about the meaning of-”

“Spare me another one of your endless lectures about linguistics,” Arthur snapped, then pinched at the bridge of his nose, pain stabbing behind his eyes as his hangover reasserted itself.  “Dammit- Will you do something useful and call the damn hotel car?”

In response, silence.

Arthur pressed his palm to his forehead, grimacing more at what an utter arse he was being than at the pain, but unable to prevent either thing.

Next to him, Merlin’s mobile chimed.

Arthur dropped his hand and watched Merlin pull the device from his pocket.  “You are not seriously going to answer that woman’s text.”

“I’m not answering her text, I’m calling the car, just like a certain spoiled royal prat of a king commanded me to.”

“Well it’s not like you haven’t been distracted by her before.”

“When have I ever been-?  Yes, sorry, hello, this is Merlin-”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur muttered.  “Because everyone knows who Merlin is.”

Merlin gave him a strange look, curious and irritated all at once.  “Yes, we’d like a car to pick us up at… Yes, that’s right.  Thanks.  Oh, and one more thing.  Could you have dinner and desert sent to our flat?  A certain someone I know is having a sugar crash.” 

“What’s a sugar crash?” Arthur asked, when Merlin hung up.

“It’s something that happens to children, when they haven’t had enough sweets, and they wind up throwing an enormous tantrum in public like a spoiled brat.”

The blood rushed to Arthur’s face the same time his arm swung up into the air, cuffing Merlin hard on the back of his head.

“The hell, Arthur!” Merlin shouted, a hand lifted to cradle his skull.

Arthur pressed stinging fingers to his leg, quickly looking away, but not before he caught the hurt and betrayal in Merlin’s eyes.

In the silence that dragged on, he kept expecting Merlin to lecture him for his atrocious behaviour.

But Merlin said nothing.  Holding his place and his silence.  And kept holding it, even in the car, the entire ride to the hotel.

*********************************

By the time they were again in the hotel lobby, Arthur’s headache had intensified. People were mulling about everywhere, loud voices echoing from marble.  Some sort of military social event was occurring, because everyone was in bright red uniforms, with golden straps across their chests. 

Arthur slunk through them, underdressed and out of place, trying to avoid notice as he made his way to the bridge over the pond.  When he stepped to their private lift, he checked his pockets.  Then checked them again.  But his lift access card was gone. 

The museum, he remembered.  He must have chucked it with that stupid identification card into the bin.  “Wonderful,” he muttered, and rubbed at his face.

“Poor thing,” Merlin said behind him.

The unexpected sympathy had Arthur turning, only to discover that Merlin was talking to the fish.  He’d lain down on his stomach, crosswise on the bridge.  His trainers dangled over one side; his arms extending off the other.  In his hands was the large white spotted fish.

“Not feeling well, are you?” Merlin said to the fish.

Arthur stepped closer, glancing around. “What are you doing?  Get up.”

“I will, when I’m done looking at George. He’s sick.”

“George?  Really, Merlin, don’t you think it’s about time you got over your jealousy of my manservant?“

“He wasn’t your-“  Merlin glared up at him, irritated at having risen to the bait.  “The last king of these lands was called George. This was his fish.  So that’s the name he chose for himself.”  He slid his fingers along the fish’s side, golden light trailing behind them, sparkling in the water.  “Here you go. That’s better, eh?”

Arthur glanced again round the lobby, and this time saw William standing by his desk on the other side of the pond.  Staring darkly at them both.

“Some more oxygen too, I think,” Merlin said, and swept both hands through the water.

Beneath the rocks lining the pond’s edge, all along the interior wall, lush plants stretched forth from concrete, leaves extending into the water, lining the pond with green.

“Merlin!”

“No one can see it,” Merlin snapped, and climbed to his feet shaking water from his hands.  “It’s hidden by the rocks, look.”

“And you don’t think perhaps the owners of the hotel might notice?”

Merlin looked at where William was approaching the edge of the pond. “Well.  It’s too late to get rid of it now.”

“Obviously.”

Merlin glanced at the closed lift, then frowned at him.  “You didn’t call the lift?”

“I misplaced my card,” Arthur grumbled. 

“Misplaced it?  Where did you-?”

“Just get over here and open this damn thing!”

“All right, all right!” Merlin knocked his shoulder into Arthur as he stepped by to slap his card to the access panel.  “And by the way, it’s not my fault if your head feels like a rotten melon.  I’m the one who told you not to drink so much at lunch!”

“You’re also the one who told me this was going to be a holiday, and look what a mess that’s turned out to be!”

The words hung in the air, Arthur shocked that he’d said them, and Merlin… He didn’t know.  He was too much a coward to look. 

When the lift came, Merlin pushed past him without a word.  Arthur joined him in the lift, able to feel the anger radiating from him, as he stood with arms crossed, glaring straight ahead, muscles in his neck jumping as he ground his teeth together.

Arthur dug his fingertips into his thighs as the lift carried them upward, able to feel unspoken words boiling between them, as they hadn’t done since Camelot.

Idiot, he told himself.  What are you doing-

When they reached their flat, Merlin stormed from the lift and into the dining room, where their food sat spread out upon the table.

Despite his hunger, Arthur went to the washroom instead.  He doubted Merlin wanted to be near him.  And in truth, he was worried he’d somehow make things worse.

For a long while he stood in the hot shower, the spray unknotting his muscles and banishing his headache, steam choking the air.  When he’d finished, he stood before the sinks, wiping the mist from the mirrors.  His reflection bore worried creases upon its forehead, a troubled downturn of its lips, and too much weariness in its blue eyes.

Slowly, the steam condensed upon the mirrored surface, turning his image ghostly.  When it did, he reached out to the smooth surface.  Drew a crown upon his head.  A dragon emblem upon his chest.  But then these, too, faded away.  Leaving nothing behind.

Again Arthur thought of the pharaoh.  Of the vast empire he had ruled.  Of the legacy he’d left behind.

Why me, he’d asked at the time.  Why am I different?

The answer, in hindsight, was stupidly clear. 

The difference was the person who had chosen to stand by Arthur’s side.  The person he’d been taking for granted.  Worse, treating like a servant.  

Arthur scrubbed the mist from the mirror with a towel, then glared at himself.  “None of this is supposed to be for you.  It’s for him. Now go and fix it.”

He quickly pulled on a fresh t-shirt and sleeping trousers, urgency making him clumsy, tripping over towels as he left the room.

He found Merlin standing over by the bedroom windows, gazing out at the sunset over London.  He’d changed into his soft sleeping trousers, his white t-shirt stretched tight over broad shoulders. 

“Thought I’d call it a night,” Merlin muttered, when Arthur stepped to his side.

“If that’s what you want.”

Merlin grunted and crossed his arms tighter over his chest, but didn’t move to walk away.

Arthur slid his fingers over the cool glass, gaze upon the city below.  “My tutors told me something interesting.  About Londinium, I mean.”

Silence, for a long moment. And then a resigned sigh.  “What?”

“They told me that without the Romans, this city would lay in ruins.  A monument to their folly.  Never to regain its former glory.” 

Merlin gave another grunt.

Arthur rubbed his palms against his thighs, feeling like he was calming a wild horse, about to get kicked in the head at any moment.  “It used to make me dizzy, you know,” he went on. “Looking down at all these buildings.”

“Did it.”

“Yes.  It did.  But I think I’m getting used to it.  It’s like looking at a puzzle.  Finding all the edges.”

Another long silence.

Arthur wanted to bash his head against the window.  It would have been less painless than this conversation.  “So… How many, would you say?  Are out there, I mean.  People.”

“Dunno.  About eight, I suppose.”

“Come now, that’s got to be more than eight thousand people.”

“Eight million.”

“Million,” Arthur repeated.  But the number held no meaning.  He had no experience with such orders of magnitude.  “That’s… a lot of people.”

“Yes.  It is.”

“It really is.   Just… a lot.”

Next to him, Merlin gave a soft sigh.

Arthur cringed and closed his eyes, remembering campfires in Camelot.  Merlin had looked like this then, stubbornly silent and closed off, some hidden war waged within his heart, in pain but unapproachable. 

They’d been meant to stand together.  But instead, they’d suffered alone, side by side.  And now here the were with a second chance on life.  A second chance to do things right. 

Only Arthur was _doing it all again_.

“Well _bollocks_ to that,” Arthur snapped.

Merlin looked over, startled. “What?”

Arthur turned fully to face him, shoulders back and chin up.  “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Merlin repeated, far too hesitant.

“Yes.  I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a selfish arse.  And a spoiled royal child.  And… an ill-mannered… cabbagehead.   Or whatever else you’re thinking I was.  You’re right.  I was being it.  So I apologise.  All right?”

That last had come out as a demand, but there was nothing for it. In the embarrassing silence following his pathetic grovelling, Arthur held Merlin’s startled gaze, refusing to take any of it back.

Merlin looked as stunned as if Arthur had just declared his intention to fly from the roof. “That was… quite a lot of apologies.  I mean.  All at once.”

“Yes.  Well.  I’m still rather new at this.  Apologising.  So I thought perhaps it was best to err on the side of excess.”

Merlin’s brows arched high and to Arthur’s great relief, he actually laughed.  With a shake of his head, he shifted to lean a shoulder against the window, head tilting against the glass.

“It’s not fair, you know,” Merlin told him.

“What is?”

“How difficult it is for me to stay mad at you.  Even when you’re at your worst.  Which is what you were being today, incidentally.”

“I know.  And I’m sor-“

“Stop,” Merlin said, and lay a gentle hand upon Arthur’s chest. “Really.  That’s enough.  There’s only so many apologies I can take at a time.”

Arthur nodded, mouth shut tight on his own words, giving Merlin time to say whatever he needed to say. 

“I really should be furious at you,” Merlin sighed.

“If that’s what you need, then go right ahead.”

“If that’s what I-?” Merlin laughed, this time rolling his eyes.  “No, that’s not what I need.  It’s just irritating that I can’t stay angry at you.”

“Well how do you think that I feel?”

“Relieved, I should think.”

 “No, I mean- I can’t stay angry at you either.”

“Really?  Oh.  Well.  That’s… good, then, right?” 

“It’s a real problem,” Arthur insisted, finally daring to tease him, because he could feel the tension between them breaking, a cool wind after a summer storm.  So he ventured a step closer, reaching up to brush strands of Merlin’s hair from his cheek.

Merlin ducked his head into the touch, and rested his hands lightly upon Arthur’s hips, looking into his eyes the whole while. 

Arthur could still see lingering distress in Merlin’s eyes.  So he kept tucking wayward strands of hair behind Merlin’s ear, every touch a wordless apology.

“I’m still mad at you,” Merlin said.

“I understand.”

“You really can be a selfish arse.”

“Yes, yes, I’m an arse, I’ve already agreed to that.”

Merlin laughed once more, just the breath of a sound.  “I’m not sure what’s more unnerving.  You apologising, or you insulting yourself.”

“Both are necessary in this case.” Arthur slid his fingertips along Merlin’s jaw, settling a palm against his warm cheek.

Merlin pressed his cheek into the touch and smiled, the sunset golden in his eyes, no match for the magic that dwelled within.

 _Besotted fool_ , Arthur thought at himself, stepped closer until their bare toes touched, and he could slide his his fingers into Merlin’s hair. “It’s not that bad, you know,” Arthur said.

“Hmm?”

“Your hair.  It’s not that bad, longer like this.  It actually balances out your ears.”

Merlin leaned closer, his breath warm upon Arthur’s lips.  “I shouldn’t cut it then?”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

“How strangely accommodating of you.”

“It’s well past time that I learn to be.”

Merlin covered Arthur’s hand.  Pressed a kiss to Arthur’s palm.  “I know it’s not easy for you,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret.  “Being who you are.  And having the world not know.”

Arthur fought the urge to agree, vocally and at length, because Merlin was right, it was difficult, all the damn time, especially here, with people constantly reminding him of antiquated ideas of class, nobility, and tradition.

“You’re as much a legend as I am,” Arthur said instead.  “And you manage walking around unknown.  If you can do it, then I surely can get the hang of it.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not, because you’ve had more practice,” Arthur said, ignoring what he knew Merlin really meant.  “So you’ll just have to be patient with me, and expect more apologising in future.  At least until I rid myself of old habits.”

“Old habits,” Merlin sighed against Arthur’s palm, sounding exhausted. “Yeah.  I know about those.”

Arthur leaned closer, lips brushing against Merlin’s own.  “We’ll just have to replace the old ones with new ones instead.”

Merlin leaned into the kiss, leaning into Arthur’s embrace, their bodies pressing gently together, despite their hard angles.  Arthur touched him with the same tenderness, hands framing Merlin’s cheeks, each soft kiss an _‘I’m sorry’_ , and an _‘I love you’_ and a _‘please forgive me’_.

When they parted, Merlin rested his chin upon Arthur’s shoulder, hands sliding up and down Arthurs’ back. “I’m not _mad_ any more,” Merlin said, in something like a whine.

“I’m… sorry?”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Arthur said, then silently apologised for that too, by sliding tender fingers through Merlin’s hair. 

He kept at it for some time, Merlin an increasing weight upon his chest, low hums of contentment rumbling from him, at a particularly tender drag of Arthur’s fingers.

“You’re just like the castle cat,” Arthur said, after a while.

“Am not.”

“What was that cat’s name?  He was lazy as the day is long, full of attitude, belligerent as an ass…  Sounds rather familiar, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“Odd, because it sounds awfully familiar to me.”

Arthur felt the half-hearted slap of Merlin’s hand to his back, before he went back to clinging, his heavy weight bringing all Arthur’s aches to the forefront. “You know, this position would feel much better if we were both laying down.”

Merlin gave a suggestive chuckle against his neck.

“I meant so we can relax.  Honestly, your one track mind…”

“You like my one track mind.”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted.  “I do.  But it’s been a long day.  And I, for one, wouldn’t mind…”  It being over, he was going to say.  But caught himself just in time.

“Lying down?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.  I wouldn’t mind lying down.”

“Okay,” Merlin said.  “Let’s do that.”

And though it was hardly gone on nine, and beyond the window the sky was aflame with orange and red, they both stripped off their shirts together, and climbed beneath soft clean sheets, into a freshly made bed. 

Arthur shoved the pillows against the headboard, then lay down on his back, propped up to see the sky changing colors beyond the windows.

Merlin stretched along Arthur’s side, a leg and arm draped over him, his head upon Arthur’s chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat.

Arthur tilted his face into the mess of Merlin’s black hair, smoother and more inviting than it had any right being.  He could smell Merlin’s vanilla soap, a scent that reminded him of castle halls filled with the spring breeze, and the sound of voices and horses in castle courtyard, and of Merlin humming to himself as he polished Arthur’s armour in his chambers.

“You were right,” Merlin said, pulling him back to the moment.

“Hmm?”

“That thing.  It feels much better when I’m lying down.”

Arthur realised he’d been absently stroking Merlin’s hair.  He kept it up, pretending he’d known he’d been doing it all along.  “You see?  I was right.”

“You are, occasionally.”

“I truly am sorry for how I treated you tonight.”

“Next time listen to me and don’t drink on an empty stomach.  I told you that you’d get a headache and turn into an utter pillock.”

“It won’t happen again,” Arthur promised, meaning so much more than what Merlin knew.  It had been unbecoming of the king he was to run like a coward from the past.  Never again would he do that, no matter the pain he felt. He owed that much to Merlin, who’d never been given that same choice.

“I can’t believe you wanted to snog in the car,” Merlin said, hand sliding warm up Arthur’s bare chest, effectively pulling his thoughts back to the moment.

“I did not want to snog in the car,” Arthur protested, because technically, he’d wanted to do much more than that.  “And what a ridiculous word… snog.”

“Sounds like a creature you’d find on a hunt.”

Arthur thought a moment, then laughed.  “ _Sjog_. That’s what you’re thinking of.  And they weren’t beasts, they were bugs.  The ones that used to fly into the castle walls in the summer.”

“That’s right,” Merlin said, laughing soft against Arthur’s chest.  “They were the stupidest things, weren’t they?  I mean, how can you miss seeing a castle?”

“Maybe they did see it and didn’t care.”

“Maybe they were actually teeny tiny invaders.”

Arthur threw his head back and laughed, Merlin snickering into his chest.  When he finished, he turned into Merlin’s embrace, chuckling into his hair.  “Teeny tiny invaders…”

Across the room, the chime of a text alert.

“Would you like to get that?” Arthur asked, meaning the offer despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to stay as he was; in the comforting tangle of Merlin’s limbs.

“I’ll get it later,” Merlin said, and kissed Arthur’s chest.

“It could be the museum.”

“The museum can wait.”

“I honestly don’t mind,” Arthur pressed.  “What if it’s important?”

“Nothing is more important than this,” Merlin said. 

Arthur stared up at the ceiling, choking on his breath, a feeling expanding in his chest so large that ‘love’ couldn’t begin to describe it.

“Come on,” Merlin said softly, and brushed his fingertips over Arthur’s ribs.  “Finish what you were saying. I want to hear more of what you remember.  About summertime in Camelot.”

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said, his voice rough.  “Well… On summer mornings, the smell of fresh bread used to fill the entire courtyard. Mix with the scent of warming stone.  As the sun rose over the mountains, you would hear the Cook’s shouts echoing up.  As she chased off the knights.  Then you’d hear Gwaine laughing, and Percival, as they fled.”

Merlin chuckled and shifted closer.  “I’d forgotten about that.”

Arthur closed his eyes, pained as always by those words. “Shall I keep going?”

“Please?”

“All right.  I will.”

And though it was painful, Arthur did as Merlin asked, choking back each swell of grief, giving Merlin back all the memories he’d lost. 

He could stand the pain of it.  He could.  He could stand anything, in fact.  Just to see Merlin smiling himself to sleep beside him, his memories restored, his heart at peace.


	5. from the past to the future

Arthur woke slowly, sleep easing away like the morning mists over Camelot. 

He stretched upon the bed, sheets sliding over his skin, the whisper of fabric audible in the room. 

This, he thought sleepily.  This was much more like it. 

No covers yanked off his head.  No endless duties awaiting him.  No life or death decisions. No damn bells startling him awake.

Arthur stretched lazily beneath the blankets, the silken sheets sliding over his skin, tickling the hair upon his bare legs, teasing the filling shape of his cock. 

He’d intended to ravish Merlin during the night.  Had awoken to use the toilet, then shed his clothes on the way back to bed.  But when he’d reached the bedside, when he’d seen Merlin sleeping – hair mussed and red cheeked and drooling a little - desire had melted into affection.  And instead of feeding carnal hunger, he crawled silent as a child back beneath the covers, to curl protectively around his sleeping sorcerer.

Arthur shifted once more, a palm easing down the muscles of his abdomen, his desire waking along with the rest of him.  

When he’d been a Prince, those mornings Merlin was late with his breakfast, Arthur had often drawn out his pleasure this way.  Just the light touch of his fingertips.  No pressure at all.  Until anticipation sparked like wool in winter over his skin.

He indulged in the same thing now, until his breath began to quicken.  With a pleased hum, Arthur reached for Merlin.  Only to find he wasn’t there.

With a grunt Arthur shoved back the covers and sat up, blinking into blinding daylight. 

At the foot of the bed stood a wheeled breakfast cart, its dishes covered by warming plates.  He stared at it a while, thoughts still half muddled with sleep, until he heard Merlin’s voice.

With a grunt Arthur got unsteadily to his feet, and shuffled down the hall.  When he reached the living room, he spotted Merlin on the couch, back turned, leaning forward.

 “That’s a Latin influence,” Merlin was saying in the direction of the table.  “Look to Cornish or Manx.  The root is boudica.”

“I have a cousin in Wales who’s named Buddug,” came a young woman’s voice.  “That means ‘victory’ too.  Are they related?”

“Exactly, yes.”

Arthur scratched at a troublesome itch on his backside, then rubbed at the warm skin, pausing behind where Merlin sat.  Two women’s faces were on the computer screen, one ginger and young, the other old and grey. “Is that a telly programme?”

Merlin spun around, wound up staring straight at Arthur’s erection, and gave a strangled gurgle.

Arthur smiled, pleased by this reaction. “And good morning to you too.”

A woman’s squeal drew Arthur’s gaze back to the screen, where the young ginger girl had slapped both hands to her mouth, and the old woman was saying “my goodness!” and looking away.

Merlin jerked round so quickly that he fell from the sofa. “Sorry!” he yelped, and slammed the laptop lid shut.

“You’re going to break it like that,” Arthur noted.

Merlin shoved himself to his feet, slack jawed and astonished, which was even more flattering than his first reaction. True, he didn’t often walk around during the day in this state, but even so.  A quite satisfying response.

“What is wrong with you?” Merlin demanded angrily, entirely ruining the moment.

Arthur looked down.  Nothing wrong that he could see.  Things were still rather impressive, in his opinion.  Especially considering the walk here from the bedroom.

“I cannot believe you!” Merlin burst out, and grabbed his laptop from the table, carrying it across the room until he reached the opposite wall.  He flattened his back to it with a thump that nearly dislodged a painting of some dour old woman, before yanking open the laptop lid again.

“Why are you standing way over there?  Come over here and let me take you to bed.”

“But you-!  And then they-!  And with- with- that!”   A loud chime startled him, Merlin nearly dropping his computer.  With a swear he jabbed at his keyboard, then looked shocked at whatever appeared on the screen.  “Oh- sorry- I meant to hang up the- Never mind, sorry, sorry.” Merlin gave the screen a strained smile.  “Hello Meredith!  Hello Jen!”

“Hello there, Merlin,” came the same older woman’s voice from before.

Across the room, Arthur felt his stomach drop to his feet.  Oh no, he thought.  Oh no, no, no-

“I am really, really sorry about that,” Merlin said breathlessly.

“The video connection went faulty at the end,” said the older woman.  “We couldn’t see anything.”

“Not at all,” added a young girl’s voice, through poorly suppressed giggles.

Arthur pressed a palm to his bare stomach, remembering what his friends in Avalon had taught him, about computers and cameras and _video phone calls_ -

In a rush of humiliation, Arthur grabbed a sofa pillow and mashed it over his groin.

“That’s a shame,” Merlin said to the screen.  “About the video.  Um.  So.”  He glanced up at Arthur.  Quickly back down at the screen.  “So, do you have any more questions?”

“It isn’t a bad time?” asked the older woman.

“No, no, not at all, nothing’s happening here at all.”

Which was absolutely, positively the last straw, and had Arthur throwing his pillow at Merlin’s head, then striding from the room with the tatters of his dignity as fast as he could possibly go.

In the refuge of the bedroom, he banged open his wardrobe doors, angrily dressing himself in t-shirt and jeans, because apparently his morning plans were out the window.  And instead of a leisurely morning of decadent pleasure, he ate his breakfast sullen and alone, sitting upon the foot of the bed and glaring out at London.

It was another half hour before Merlin returned.  He didn’t even properly enter the room.  Just peeked guiltily around the bedroom door, cringing as if expecting a projectile to be lobbed at his head.

“Stop lurking out there like a nervous servant,” Arthur snapped at him, and jabbed at his eggs.

“Right.” Merlin eased into the room.  Came a few paces closer, then stopped.

Arthur glared at him.

Merlin seemed to remember himself, and closed the distance.

When he was within perfect shouting distance, Arthur threw down his silverware with a clatter. “The hell, Merlin!”

“I know!”

“You could have warned me!”

“I didn’t want to wake you. You said you wanted a lie in, remember?”

“Yes, I remember!”

“Well then that’s why I did it!  You got to have one, didn’t you?”

But it was alone, Arthur wanted to say.  But it sounded spoiled even in his own head.  And worse, it rang of those old habits he was trying to shed.

Arthur rubbed at his face and swallowed the words down. Spoiled, he told himself.  Spoiled child of a king.  “So those women,” he said instead. “What did they want?”

At first Merlin looked ready to press.  But then he moved to the bed.  Sat gently by Arthur’s side. “The museum team needed me to settle a debate.  Or, well, several of them.  That’s why I got out of bed.  It was too much to text.  I thought it would be faster to video conference with-“

“Video conference, is it?  We used to call it spying.”

“They didn’t mean to.”

Arthur jabbed again at his decimated eggs. 

“I’m sure they didn’t see anything,” Merlin said, his tone reminding Arthur of rat stew and extra belt holes and a dozen other things he didn’t want to know.  “Besides, you were standing behind my head.  Which, as you’ve often mentioned, is enormous.  The size of my ears alone would block the view.”

Arthur groaned and closed his eyes, the truth apparently worse than he’d suspected, because good lord Merlin was actually making fun of his own ears. 

“In any case,” Merlin went on, in a horrifying attempt to console him, “everything looked quite, um, in order.  In the below the waist area, I mean.  In terms of your-“

“Will you stop talking!”

Merlin cleared his throat and shifted on the bed.

Arthur scrubbed both hands through his hair, realizing in horror that he’d have to see those women again.  They’d be at the reception, wouldn’t they.  Which Merlin said would be quite small.  But then again, he’d once evaded three very eligible princesses in his own throne room. So perhaps there was hope.

“I really am sorry,” Merlin said softly.

“I know,” Arthur sighed.

“I had no idea that would happen.  I’d never embarrass you like that.  Not that I don’t enjoy embarrassing you usually, but… Well.  There’s manure on the face embarrassment, and then there’s cock on the internet embarrassment.”

Arthur’s knee crashed into the breakfast cart as he twisted around.  “I was on the internet?”

“No!  No, I didn’t mean-!  It wasn’t, I swear!”

“Then why the hell did you just say-?“

“It was only those two women that saw your cock!”

“Only-“  Arthur choked on his breath.  “What?”

“I mean they didn’t!  They didn’t see it!  No one did!  I mean I did, yes, and it was lovely, by the way, but not anyone who-   What?  Why are you laughing?”

Arthur ducked his head, coughing out strange stuttering laughs, as bewildered as Merlin by the amusement that had overcome him. 

“What’s so funny?” Merlin demanded, which had Arthur laughing harder than before.

It wasn’t funny, not at all.  But he couldn’t help but laugh.  His humiliation- Merlin’s dismay- Their combined technology ineptitude- It was just so reassuringly familiar, in a wonderful horrible way. 

“It’s like my trousers,” Arthur laughed, remembering Merlin wrestling him to the council room floor, half undressing him in front of his councillors, in his efforts to steal the keys to the vaults.

“You’re starting to worry me,” Merlin told him.

“I’m starting to worry myself,” Arthur said, grinned despite himself at the insanity that was his life.  “Honestly, Merlin.  The awful things that sometimes befall me because of you…”

He’d meant it as a compliment.  But at his side, Merlin went very still.

Arthur’s stomach twisted, his mirth vanishing, as he realised what he’d said. “I didn’t mean-“

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do.”

“It’s all right.”

Which was a lie, Arthur thought.  But let Merlin say it, giving him time to recover from his own damned mistake. 

For a while Merlin stared out at London, his dark brows pulled together, and lips pinching down at the corners, as troubled as ever Arthur remembered seeing him those nights by the campfire, as their destinies and Camlann loomed before them.

Idiot, Arthur thought at himself.  And you say he can’t control his mouth.  Then you go dredging up the past. 

Merlin stood up, and walked to the windows.

Arthur joined him there, to look out upon London. “So.  What’s on the agenda today?”

“There’s the formal event tonight, of course.”

“And when are we leaving for that?”

“The museum car will pick us up at six o’clock.  The hotel will have our tuxedos to us by four o’clock at least.”

Arthur watched the ferries speeding up and down the Thames.  “Perhaps we could take a boat ride along the river.  See more of the city from the water.”

“What, today?”

“Yes, today.  Why not?”

“It’s just… That would take a while, and… I’m not sure how much of the day I’ll need to spend at the museum.  It might be most of it.  Actually.” 

Arthur pursed his lips and prayed for patience.

“It’s all done with after tonight. I mean, when they’re posted after the gala-”

“Gala?  Now it’s a gala?  What happened to ‘private event’.”

“It is private event.  It’s by private invitation only.  It’s just that a few more people got invited than I thought, is all. A couple of diplomats, a few members of royalty-  It’s a good thing, Arthur!” Merlin insisted, when Arthur began to protest.  “Now people all over the world will know about my books. Not just a bunch of dusty old scholars hidden away in libraries, but everybody!  Everywhere! Finally!”

“All right, fine, settle down.  But this is the end to it today-“

“Yes, it is.”

“I have your word?  After tonight, you’ll enjoy your holiday properly?”

“I promise.”

There was nothing Arthur could do against the hopeful expression Merlin was wielding against him, eroding his anger like a river upon sand.  “All right,” he grumbled.

Merlin’s excitement returned in full force. “Great!  It’ll be fun, Arthur, you’ll see.  I’ll go text the museum team.  Tell them we’ll be there within the hour.”

“We?  No.  Absolutely not.  You’re going alone.”

“Alone?  But you said-”

“I have no intention of returning to that place without a large crowd to shield me from those spying video conference women.”

“This is the modern age, Arthur,” Merlin informed him, as if Arthur wasn’t excruciatingly aware of that fact every second of every day.  “I doubt it’s the first time either of those women has seen a naked man before.”

“I could care less how many naked men they’ve seen.  I only care that they saw me.”

Merlin tipped up his chin in a way that suggested he was digging his heels in for an argument. “If you stay here all day, you’ll go mental.”

“I can occupy myself.”

“What, watching telly?”

“If I want to.”

“You won’t last thirty minutes.  You’re already fidgeting.”

Arthur stilled the tapping of his fingers upon his leg.  Very possibly, Merlin was right.  The full night’s sleep had done him good, but he had energy to burn. Back in Camelot, he would have taken all this pent up frustration- especially considering his morning’s spoiled plans- and marched it down to the training field.  That had always done wonders for his aggravation.

“That’s it,” Arthur announced.  “I’ll go to the hotel training facility.”

“Training facility?  What training facility?”

“The one we saw on the way to the tailor.” 

Merlin frowned at him, perplexed.

“The windowed area along the hallway? All those the people sparring in that massive room beyond?  The room full of metal equipment that-  Do you honestly not remember any of this?”

“I remember the bakery,” Merlin said thoughtfully.

“Of course you do.  Just unbelievable...”

Merlin dogged his steps to the wardrobe, hovering beside it as Arthur selected items suitable for exercise. “But are you sure you don’t want to go to the museum?”

Arthur selected a stretchy modern shirt, sniffed at it, then tucked it under his arm.  “Very sure,” he said firmly.

“You don’t want to spend more time in the Egyptian room?”

“I’ve seen it twice already.”

“You might have missed something.”

Arthur glanced over when Merlin’s elbow bumped into the wardrobe door.  His face had gone pale, and he was biting at his bottom lip, shifting in place as if desperate for escape.

“The museum has a café,” Merlin said, his voice breaking on the words, making Arthur realise what he should have spotted before.  That Merlin was panicking, as he’d done in Avalon, those days after his return. “It’s a very good one,” Merlin went on in growing breathlessness, clearly fighting what was happening.  “They do a good.  Um.  Scone.  So they told me. And the sandwiches.  You could have lunch.  You could just- Just sit- or- or-”

Arthur clasped the back of Merlin’s neck, the skin damp beneath his palm. “Merlin, breathe.”

“I am- breathing-”

“Breathe slower.  Remember?   Just like you told me?”

Merlin grabbed hold of Arthur’s forearms, fingertips pressing in. 

“Breathe,” Arthur said, softer.

Merlin ducked his head and swore viciously in Brittonic, shoulders heaving with loud breaths.

Arthur loosed Merlin’s grip.  Took one hand, and set it upon his own heartbeat.  Took the other, and set it over his neck, Merlin’s long fingers against his pulse. 

Merlin didn’t comment upon what he’d done.  Didn’t even look up at him as he stood there shaking.  Old wounds, Arthur thought again. They both had them, raw and still bleeding.  All too ready to be ripped open again just like this, from too many centuries of separation.

That’s it, Arthur realised.  That’s what done it this time.  We’re separating from one another.  Not just running different errands in the village of Avalon, but putting half a modern city between us. 

“Come here,” Arthur said, and pulled Merlin into his arms.

“I’m all right,” Merlin insisted breathlessly, but clung to him as if falling, grabbing handfuls of Arthur’s shirt at his back.

Arthur pressed his cheek to Merlin’s, feeling stubble against his cheek. “You need a shave,” he said softly.

“So do you,” Merlin croaked out.

For a while, they stood in silence.  Arthur waited until the worst of Merlin’s tremors had passed, then pressed a promise to Merlin’s cheek.  “I won’t leave the hotel while you’re gone.”

Only silence in response. 

“Not even for a breath of fresh air,” Arthur went on.  “Not for a single second.”

“I’m not a child,” Merlin mumbled into his neck.

“Nor am I, if you recall.”

“I know that.  I do.”

Arthur set his hands upon Merlin’s shoulders.  Guided him away to look properly at him.  Shoulders pulled back as if he wore his crown.  Reminding Merlin of the warrior – and the king – that he truly was.

Merlin nodded, understanding, and slowly pulled away, moving over to the window, to stare in silence out at London.

Arthur gave him his space, and his privacy, and went to the washroom to clean up.

When they were both ready to leave, they met at the front door.  Arthur had dressed in a silken white exercise shirt and comfortable grey cloth trousers.  Merlin stood in sharp contrast in every aspect.  Button down black shirt and rough black jeans, reminding Arthur of the ravens from the day before. 

Merlin adjusted the bag over his shoulder, but paused with his hand upon the front door handle.  “You could still come to the museum.”

“You could still come and train with me.”

“Right, because I love being knocked on my arse by you so much.”

“In certain circumstances you do.”

The futile struggle Merlin fought with himself to suppress his smile was truly entertaining to watch.   “Shut up,” Merlin muttered, his full lips quirking up into a crooked smile.

The sight of it was too endearing, the curve of Merlin’s lips far too tempting.  Arthur couldn’t help but lean in and taste, in what he intended to be a brief kiss of parting.

Merlin had no such intentions, leaning in with unexpected urgency, as if some restraint had broken within him.  His hands clutched at Arthur’s shirt, his mouth opening and tongue sliding in, kissing him as if they were separating for a month.

Arthur fell helplessly into the rush of it, dizzy at the sweep of Merlin’s cunning tongue, intoxicated at the wet slide of his plush lips.  It was illegal, how Merlin could use his mouth.  Or it should have been, for how it made him ache to lean away.

“We should go,” Arthur said, though he wanted the exact opposite, wanted to tell Merlin to stay, let’s both just stay, only with far less clothes between them, and them both in their bed-

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed against his lips, then bent to press a lingering kiss to Arthur’s neck.  “We should go…”

Arthur’s eyes closed as he felt Merlin licking at his skin, tasting him as if he were the most wonderful desert he’d ever seen.  And gods above that felt good, just the wet sliding of his tongue, the contact setting every nerve aflame.  “Absurd,” he heard himself whisper.  “Just absurd…”

“Hmm?”

“How much I want you. Why do I want you so much?”

Merlin rested his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder with a thump.  “Damned if I know.”

Arthur pressed his cheek to Merlin’s temple, marvelling at how well their bodies fit together, as if cut from the same cloth. 

Merlin sighed and lifted his head, his blue eyes the colour of the moonlit sea, unfathomably deep and containing wonders.

 _I really must love him_ , Arthur thought, for my head to be stuffed full of poetic nonsense.

Merlin tilted his head at him.  “You all right?” 

“Just thinking about poetry,” Arthur told him, then smiled at Merlin’s confusion, and guided him to the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The hotel exercise facility was more extensive than Arthur thought.  It contained an indoor pool rank with chemicals, a room blaring music where people danced in unison, a mirrored alcove containing machines meant to be moved around for muscular development, and finally – most interestingly – the sparring room he’d spotted earlier.

In one corner, twenty people in white uniforms were sparring in pairs.  They swatted needle thin swords at one another, dancing back and forth, somehow able to see through the black mask obscuring their faces. When Arthur approached, and asked about technique, he found himself given a white uniform, and invited to join the class.

He was wrong-footed at first, the sword too light in his hand. But once he mapped the techniques to what he knew, and reframed it in his head, he scored point after point on all of this training partners, until finally he was duelling the instructor.  The man was skilled, highly so, enough that the other students gathered around, cheering both Arthur and him whenever either of them scored a point.

“I give,” the man laughed, pulling off his headgear to reveal a dark face and broad grin.

“If you insist,” Arthur said, and pulled off his own headgear, breathless and sweaty and very damn near giddy with how good it had felt, just to spar once again.  Especially someone as skilled as Jerome.  “How long have you been a fencing instructor?”

“Here?  Five years now.  Been at it for fifteen.” Jerome tucked his rapier beneath his arm and wiped his face with a white glove.  “How about you?”

“This was my first time with this particular type of weapon,” Arthur said, studying the feather light blade.  Utterly useless on a battlefield.  But highly effective for technique. 

“You’re having me on.” Jerome quirked a dark eyebrow when Arthur shook his head.  “That’s not possible.  No one is that much of a natural on their first go.”

“I didn’t say it’s my first time with a sword,” Arthur pointed out.  “I’ve studied broadsword since I was a boy.”

“Really?” Jerome asked, sounding fascinated.  “Where did-?”

“Broadsword?” interrupted a tall blond man.  His skin was oddly tanned, more orange than bronze, and his teeth were even whiter than his hotel fencing instructor uniform.

Jerome’s expression twitched as the man approached, very similar to how Merlin used to respond to arrogant nobles at court.  “Arthur,” Jerome said, “this is Doug.”

“Douglas,” the tall man corrected sharply, with an irritated glance at Jerome.  “Douglas Whitmore Stanton, of the Kent Stantons.  Head Teacher at Eton, Instructor of Historical European Martial Arts, and Director of the Kent BFHS Society.”

Arthur clasped the man’s hand in the modern fashion, pain shooting through his fingers at the crushing grip the man was intentionally inflicting. “That’s quite a long title you have there. Doug,” he said, and squeezed back.

The man’s cheek twitched, and he let go of Arthur’s hand.  “The titles are well deserved, I assure you.  And what about you?  Any titles?  Any affiliations?”

“Does that matter for a test of skills?  I’m assuming that’s what you’re about to suggest.”

“Very perceptive…. Arthur, is it?”

“Yes it is.  Doug.”

“So when I defeat you,” Douglas said, “what school’s reputation shall I be trouncing?”

“I was tutored,” Arthur said, filing away the insult as motivation. 

“Oh, so one of those, huh?”

“So what shall it be, _Doug_?” Arthur asked, his control rewarded by the man’s obvious irritation.  “Are we fighting in full armour?  Or will it just be chainmail?”

Douglas screwed up his long nose.  “I don’t use any of that nonsense.  Just gets in the way.”

Oh yes, Arthur thought.  This really _was_ going to be fun.

As Jerome went to get Arthur a training broadsword- because of course Douglas had one of his own- Arthur relaxed and drank water near the windows.  When Jerome returned with his weapon, he approached and set it upon the nearby table, then began helping Arthur unbuckle his fencing jacket.

“So,” Jerome said, “just how good are you?”

“Very good.  Why?”

“I hate to admit it, but he actually knows what he’s doing.”

Across the mat, Douglas was striding back and forth on the mat, showily swinging his sword around in what he probably thought was an intimidating fashion.

“He overextends his arm,” Arthur noted.  “Favours his left side when he turns.  His left knee is also weaker than his right.  And he has too high a centre of balance. Likely he’s a brute force attacker.  Four or five blows maximum, and then a vulnerable pause for recovery.  I should be able to end him within the first minute.”

Jerome’s laughter echoed from the windows. “You do that and I’ll give you twenty quid.  Then twenty more each time you knock him on his arse.”

“Not a friend of yours, then, I take it?”

“Arrogant arsehole struts around here every summer, bullying the younger instructors, rubbing his posh Eton job in everyone’s face.” Jerome picked up the training sword he’d brought over.  Held it out to Arthur.  “This is the best we got.  Hope it’s good enough.”

Arthur took the weapon, testing the weight of it. It was battered, but well balanced, and a welcome thing in his hand.  “Not as good as my own sword, but it should do nicely.”

“Oi!” Douglas shouted.  “Are you going to stand there?  Or do you ever intend to fight?”

Arthur studied the blade a moment longer.  “How many times?”

“How many times what?”

“How many times would you like me to knock him down?”

Jerome snorted out a laugh.  “How many times can you manage it?”

“It depends,” Arthur said thoughtfully.  “On whether or not you want him getting back up again.”  He gave Jerome a grin, feeling every bit a prince again. “Start counting,” he said, and strode off onto the mat.

A half hour later, Douglas was sat on a bench by the refreshment table with an ice pack pressed to his shoulder, and Arthur was leading the class on broadsword techniques.

Word had got round the hotel, because people kept showing up, hotel guests and other instructors alike.  Only when they’d run out of broadswords had people been turned away, most of them lining up outside the room’s glass wall to watch.

After Arthur set up his students in pairs to practice their skills, he joined Jerome over by the refreshments.

“Why in the hell are you not teaching somewhere?” Jerome asked, as held out a water bottle.

“I did used to train young men in swordsmanship,” Arthur admitted, and took a long drink.  “But that was a long time ago.”

“You should pick it up again.  I mean it, Arthur.  Because skills like yours…  I mean, I’ve never even seen some of this stuff.”

Arthur watched his students sparring together, thinking of the people he’d briefly taught back in Avalon.  At the time, he’d done it only to keep his skills sharp.  To pass the time, until the prophecy arrived.  But now, with all that done…

“Teacher,” Arthur said thoughtfully, and sipped at his water.  “An interesting idea.”

“Well if you ever decide you want to teach…” Jerome peered over Arthur’s shoulder and raised his voice. “We’d love to have you here!  You’re the best I’ve ever seen!”

Behind Arthur, Douglas mumbled something to himself.

“How’s the battle wound, Douglas?” Arthur asked.  “The arm hasn’t fallen off entirely, I take it?”  

“I don’t see how you injuring me is funny,” Douglas snapped.

“ _Injured_ , good lord, it’s not even a proper sprain.  The way you’re acting, you’d think I broke it.  Are all Eaton teachers as fragile as you?”

“Fuck you!”

Arthur set his bottle upon the table.  Turned slowly to face the man.  A lifetime of royal training urged him forward.  A lifetime of restraint held him back.  “For your sake,” Arthur said, low and dangerous, “I shall pretend that I did not hear that.”

Douglas surged to his feet.  “Why don’t I say it louder then?”

Jerome rushed between them, his back to Arthur, advancing on Douglas. “Get out of my class, _now_ -“

“This has nothing to do with _you_ , Jerome-”

“You swearing at my students?  Or trying to knock his head off during a sparring session?  Or didn’t you think I saw that?  Anybody else see that dirty shot he took?”

Douglas glanced around, realizing that they’d acquired an audience, most of whom were nodding.  “Management will be hearing about this,” Douglas said in a low voice. 

“You’re damned right about that,” Jerome growled back.

Arthur waited until the man had stormed off to step to Jerome’s side.  “I apologise if I’ve caused any trouble.  That wasn’t my intention.”

“Trouble?” Jerome asked, incredulous. “Are you kidding me?  You’re my own personal hero!  Management will go mental when they hear what he did.  No way Doug’s going to stick around now.”  He laughed, looking delighted.  “A shame you’re not nobility.  That would have got him tossed out forever!”

“I never said I wasn’t nobility,” Arthur pointed out.

Jerome’s eyes went wide.  “You’re having me on.”

“Descended from an ancient line of kings.  Would you say that’s noble enough?”

Jerome’s laughter echoed from the walls.  “Just for that, I’m taking you to lunch!  Or should I say, ‘I’m taking you to lunch… my lord.”

“I also answer to ‘your majesty’.”                        

“After what you did today, _your majesty_ , I’ll call you anything you want!”

**********

They didn’t wind up eating alone, half a dozen hotel instructors all joining them in the employees’ lounge.  None were fans of the apparently infamous Douglas, all sharing stories and anecdotes at his expense. 

By the time the meal was over, Arthur’s cheeks were sore from laughing, and he’d had a half dozen offers to teach here in Douglas’ place.  He escaped only with Jerome’s help, returning to the lobby smiling and sore, wanting nothing more than a long shower and an even longer nap.

On the way to the lift, he spotted William by the pond’s edge.  A woman in blue uniform knelt nearby, plucking leaves from the water, laying them on a small towel beside her.

“Good afternoon, William,” Arthur said.

William gave him a respectful nod, then returned to watching the woman work.

“I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my access card.  Do you happen to have a spare?”

“I shall have one sent up.  I would be happy to assist in the meantime.”

As he followed William across the bridge to the lift, Arthur realised how noticeably the pond had changed.  Plants grew thick and green along the walls, and upon the water, the water lilies had all gone into bloom all at once. “I hope everything is order with the pond?”

William pressed his card to the lift access panel.  “We shall soon see.”

“Has George recovered from his illness?”

“My lord?”

“The white fish, there. His skin is brighter and his spots are-”

“How did you know he was ill?”

If the angry tone hadn’t breached protocol, then the form of address would have. Even more shocking was the intensity in Williams eyes, as he stood glaring at Arthur with thin white brows pulled tightly together.

The chime of the lift’s arrival interrupted the awkward moment.

Arthur made his escape without further comment, stepping swiftly into the lift without saying farewell, then sagging back in relief against the wall after the doors closed between them.

****************************************

The shower he indulged in was decadent even for a king, steam pouring out into the bedroom when he finally emerged warm and naked.

He was also, irritatingly, still alone. 

After wrapping a towel around his waist, he picked up his mobile from the bed, and discovered he had four messages from Merlin.

_12:57:  ‘Running late.’_

_15:15:  ‘Still working.’_

_15:30:  ‘Eat something, k?’_

_16:00: ‘K???’_

Arthur reclined back on the bed and typed up his reply, the mobile held over his face.  When he’d finished, he flopped his arms to the soft blankets. 

For a while, he stared at the ceiling. Doing absolutely nothing.

I can have entire weeks like this, he thought.  The idea was like a guilty dream. No mornings with people banging down his door.  No council demanding life or death decisions.  No one asking anything of him at all.

By his head, his mobile chimed. 

Well, Arthur amended. Not exactly no one.

With a lazy flop of his arm, he grabbed his mobile and read yet another text from Merlin. 

_16:40: ‘Back within the hour. Sorry. TTYS.’_

“What the hell does TTYS mean?” Arthur asked.

“Here are the results for ‘what the hell does TTYS mean’,” came the woman’s posh voice from his mobile.

A list of blue underlined words had appeared on his screen.  An internet search, apparently. “How on earth did that happen?” he wondered aloud.

“I need some more information for ‘how on earth did that happen’,” said the voice.

Arthur sat up, his grip on the mobile shifting enough for him to realise he’d been pressing the button he’d largely only used for directions.  He pressed it again, and asked:  “What time is it right now?”

“The current time in London is sixteen forty.”

Well, he thought.  This way was far easier than poking the damned keyboard.  He definitely had to mock Merlin for not knowing of it, because as far as he’d seen, Merlin typed everything letter by letter on the screen.

And speaking of Merlin…

And of the internet…

Arthur glanced toward the bedroom door.  Then down at his mobile.  After a deep breath, he asked a carefully worded question.

For the next several minutes, he sat reading. 

Useful information, to be sure.  Although fairly… medical in nature.  Which had not been, exactly, what he was after.

After glanced at the bedroom door again.  Then asked another, more specific, question.

Ten minutes later his heart was pounding, his face was flushed, and his towel was tented over a throbbing erection.  With a trembling hand he followed link after link, reading screen after screen, all of it scandalously detailed and explicit.

“Filthy,” Arthur breathed, and hungrily read every single word.

Entirely by accident he discovered there were more than just written descriptions of sexual activity, there were actual photographs as well, along with - holy hell Merlin hadn’t been exaggerating – detailed videos of people actually doing it.

He found videos of men and women, of women and women, of men and men-  of bodies coming together in every way possible.  Many of the people were talking as they did it -  and no wonder Merlin had a filthy mouth on him - just like the current video he was watching.  A naked man was talking to another, describing in filthy detail what he was going to do.  It was apparently an enormous turn on to his partner, who was rutting against the bed, as the first man pressed kisses down his shoulders, and his spine, and his-

“He’s not… With his tongue?”

Several moments of stunned silence.

“That is _disgusting_ ,” Arthur said.

And then he watched the video again. 

Four videos later, Arthur realised the mobile screen was shaking, because his hand was shaking, as he watched two men writhing upon a bed.  The first lay stretched out on his back, the second sitting astride his hips, riding him like a stallion, and that looked-  and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder- because the man upon his knees was incoherent with rapture, the same way Merlin was in certain moments-

Arthur licked his lips and looked over at where Merlin kept the oil. 

Ten minutes later Arthur lay sprawled on his back, knees up and apart, one hand upon his cock, the other with fingers shoved inside, shuddering wildly as he hit upon a particularly good spot, and gods above why had he never done this to himself before, Merlin was a selfish bastard for keeping this from him, because there, there- oh- what was that- oh- oh- _hell_ -

Arthur’s shout echoed from the wall as he arched on the bed, body quivering and fingers crooking deeper, sparking another wave of ecstasy that had a leg kicking out and his hand gripping his erection too hard, wringing out a third wave of pleasure somehow.

His tremors faded only gradually, whimpers silencing with every breath, as his sweat soaked body remembered once again how to move. 

When his heart was done trying to pound through his chest, and his strength had returned to his limbs, Arthur slapped both hands to his face.

“I,” he said against his palms, “am going to kill him.”

Because not once had Merlin suggested that Arthur could be at the receiving end of all that pleasure.  Not once!  When he knew how damned good it felt!

“Selfish bastard,” Arthur said, feeling murderous. “The very second we get back from that gala, I’m going to insist he fuck me.” 

That would teach his idiot sorcerer not to hold out on him.  Bloody selfish warlock. 

“The very second,” Arthur said again, and stomped off to the shower.

****************************************

He returned to the bedroom to find Merlin rolling a metal clothes rack into the room.  Upon it hung two suits covered in plastic, each midnight black.

“I’m so sorry that I-“ Merlin began.

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur told him, securing his towel around his waist.

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not. I had a marvellous day.”

“But we-“  Merlin blinked at him.  “You did?”

“I trained with Jerome, knocked Douglas on his arse more times than I can remember, got taken to lunch by the hotel training staff, then had an interesting chat with William about George.”

Merlin only stared in response, as gobsmacked as Arthur had intended.

Serves him right for spending all day in the museum, he thought.  Though to be honest, it had been far more enjoyable than he suspected any ferry ride could have been.

“What did William say about George?” Merlin asked finally.

“That’s what you focused on out of all of that?” Arthur reached past Merlin to grab the fabric bag bearing his name, only to recoil, a hand pressed over his nose. “What is awful stench?  It’s like rotten weeds.”

“I think it might be me.”  Merlin sniffed at the shoulder of his t-shirt.  “Yeah, it’s definitely me. I must have got some of Cassie’s perfume on my shirt.”

“And how, exactly, did you get Cassandra’s perfume on your shirt?”

“The team had to work in a tiny back room today.  The Reading Room was closed, to get ready for the exhibit.”

“Well go wash it off.  You stink like a harlot.”

“I don’t stink like a harlot.  I smell like Cassie.”

“Exactly,” Arthur said, more sharply than he’d intended.

And because Merlin was an utter bastard, he arched a dark eyebrow, looking smug and amused and clearly preparing an insolent comment to antagonise his king.

Arthur pointed at him.  “Shut.  Up.”

Merlin tipped up his chin, eyes narrowing.  “Make me.”

“Make-“  Arthur’s heart pounded as his legs moved him forward, hand already reaching to grab the back of Merlin’s neck, reeling him into a demanding kiss.

It was open mouthed and filthy, tongue and breath and possession.  Merlin grunted into it, too close to laughing for Arthur’s liking.  So he tilted his head as he’d seen on those videos, and sucked on Merlin’s tongue as if it were something else instead, because he wanted that too, wanted all of it, wanted everything.

Merlin’s hands flew up to clutch at Arthur’s shoulders, a satisfying whimper squeaking from his throat.

The sound had Arthur stepping backward, deeply satisfied by his efforts. “So,” he said, mostly hiding his own breathlessness. “You were saying?”

Merlin’s mouth opened and closed on an unspoken word, staring at Arthur with wide blue stunned eyes, effectively kissed into perfect silence.

“I thought not,” Arthur informed him, and went to retrieve his tuxedo.

He was leaving the bedroom door when Merlin finally spoke.  “So that… um… Thing.  That you just did with your…“

“Oh that?  Just something I read about today.”

“Read?  Where?”

“You really can find all sorts of interesting things on the internet.”  Arthur paused in the doorway.  Cast a sly smile over his shoulder.  “Didn’t you know?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arthur dressed in the living room, away from the temptation of Merlin’s flushed face and eager mouth. He handled the fabric of his formalwear with great care, the craftsmanship and quality obvious even to his eyes.

His white button down shirt put the clouds to shame, its smooth fabric whispering over his arms, settling nearly weightless across his shoulders, comfortable even when buttoned to his neck.  His trousers were much the same, straight legs silken upon his thighs, their black in stark contrast to the pristine white shirt he tucked in.  And the waistcoat…

Arthur paused to admire it, impressed by the rich red material, and the multitude dragons embroidered upon it in golden thread. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and slipped it on.

Once he’d finished off the outfit with black footwear and black tuxedo jacket, went to regard himself in the mirror.  “Definitely more slimming than chainmail,” he told his reflection, and gave himself a sly smile, because he was looking good indeed.

After he’d conquered the red bow tie – after only five attempts – Arthur soothed a hand through his hair, and slid his palms down his jacket.   “Yes, not bad.  Not bad at all.”

He wondered how Merlin looked.  He had an idea, based upon those days Merlin favoured his dour black t-shirts and black jeans.  Dressed like that he looked especially beautiful, pale skin and dark cloth like moonlight on a dark forest.  Ethereal and magical.  Unknowable and dangerous.

“Arthur, could you help me with this bloody bow tie?” came Merlin’s distressed yell.

Arthur shared a fond look with his reflection, then went to save his dangerous warlock from the perils of his bow tie.

When Arthur entered the bedroom, he found Merlin standing before the wall mirror. Even with his back turned to him, his tight tuxedo flattered the contours of his body.  His shoulders looked broader beneath the black jacket; his legs even longer than he knew they were. 

Arthur paused in the doorway.  Just staring at the sight of him. 

Beautiful, Arthur thought, pausing to take in every detail.  Black jacket and trousers dark as midwinter’s night.  White shirt glowing as if reflecting Merlin’s magic within him. Golden dragons sparkling as Merlin breathed, as if straining to defend him.

“Damned thing,” Merlin muttered, and yanked his bow tie loose.  “I can’t…”

Merlin paused as he turned, his mouth falling open on an audible gasp, when he saw Arthur in the doorway. 

“Your hair,” Arthur heard himself say.

Merlin pressed a hand to his hair, as if he’d forgotten that he’d changed it, shortening the curls and flattening the top, exactly the way he’d had it in Camelot.

“You needed help?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I…”  Merlin trailed off, staring.  After a while, he held out the strip of fabric.

Arthur crossed the room and took it.  Carefully he lifted the collar of Merlin’s shirt, to settle the strip of fabric around it.  “So.  Why the change?”

“It needed a trim.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And I wanted to.”

Arthur glanced up, then back at his fingers upon the bow, not entirely sure how he felt.  It was unsettling, how the small change had Merlin looking like he had in Camelot, as if he’d been plucked straight out of the past.

It did, however, nicely set off Merlin’s sharp features.  Accentuating the angles of his cheeks, the tempting pale stretch of neck, even the rounded shapes of his ears.

Even more proof of how gone he was, Arthur thought.  For him to find Merlin’s _ears_ attractive.  He wanted to _lick_ them.  What kind of besotted fool yearned for such a thing?

 “So you look…”  Merlin swallowed, his throat bobbing above Arthur’s fingers. 

“Hmm?”

“Not awful.”

“Eloquent as always, I see.  Chin up now.”

Merlin dragged his gaze upward and tipped back his head.

Arthur kept his gaze upon his fingers, a difficult task with Merlin nervously licking his lips, more beautiful than any nobleman Arthur had ever seen, or for that matter any noblewoman. “It’s hard to believe, with you looking like this, that you’re the same man who used to muck out my stables.”

“And clean your chamber pot.”

“And trip over my chamber pot.”

“I never did that.”

“You did, at least once a week.”

“Well if you’d ever put it back where it belonged, then I wouldn’t have done it at all.”

“So you admit it.” Arthur tugged overly hard at the knot he was making.  “It’s really quite impressive, how you can change your story so quickly like that.”

Merlin didn’t answer, expression twitching in memory and pain, making Arthur want to smack himself for unintentionally dragging their past into the present again.

“Stop squirming,” Arthur said, and pulled free the red fabric to start all over again. 

Merlin peered down his nose as Arthur went back to work. “How do you know how to do this anyway?”

“I know how because I was paying attention when the tailor instructed me, unlike you, who were busy telling anyone who would listen that you weren’t a lord.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Don’t bother telling anyone that tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

Arthur gently pulled at the ends of the bow he’d made.  “Because dressed like this, you look more a lord than anyone should.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Only you would find an insult in what I said.”  Arthur folded Merlin’s shirt collar over the bowtie, then slid his fingers over the knot.  “There you are.  Perfection itself.”

“Yeah, and the tie isn’t bad either.”

Merlin’s lopsided grin suggested that the deprecating joke was obvious.  That it was impossible to imagine the compliment was meant for Merlin instead.   Any other time, Arthur might have let it go.  But not tonight. 

“You do, you know,” Arthur said softly.  “Look like perfection itself.”

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes.

Arthur stepped close and rested his hand upon the nape of Merlin’s neck, fingertips sliding along the shortened edge of his hair. “I mean it.”

“Stop it,” Merlin muttered, and tried to step away.

“Maddening man,” Arthur scolded, and captured his lips in one kiss and then another, each a compliment Merlin wouldn’t let him say. 

Merlin was smiling by the time he leaned away, looking as flustered and as flattered as if Arthur had actually spoken his heart.  “We should probably go.”

“Or we could stay,” Arthur said, pressing a kiss below Merlin’s tempting ear.

“We can finish later, I promise.”

“And what are you promising, exactly?”

“Anything you want. Including whatever you read on the internet today.”

“Been thinking about that, have you?”

“Are you kidding me?” Merlin asked, his voice breaking.

Arthur smiled against Merlin’s warm skin.  “After what I read today, my list has got quite a bit longer.”

“Yeah?”  Merlin cleared his throat.  “With what?”

“Later,” Arthur teased, and kissed the corner of Merlin’s lips.  Once again he found himself lingering, the tip of his tongue dipping into that enticing furrow, tasting the earthy scent of Merlin’s skin.

Merlin murmured something that sounded like ‘unbelievable’.

“Your fault,” Arthur murmured.  “You and these damn clothes.”

“That’s not…”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” 

Arthur set his hands upon Merlin’s shoulders and guided him away.

Merlin shook his head, looking oddly caught out.  “It’s just… I never thought you and I-“

The front door chime cut him off.

“That’ll be our car,” Merlin said.

Arthur let him move away, holding back all his questions.  Merlin didn’t want him to ask.  And so he wouldn’t.

Tonight, more than any other night, was about Merlin.  About all he’d done.  About getting his due, after centuries of waiting.  And so Arthur smiled, and gestured toward the door, and then followed without complaint, to the living room.

When they reached the front door, Merlin paused, muttering to himself, apparently unable to fit his mobile into any of his pockets. 

“Trousers too tight?” Arthur asked sweetly, putting “I told you so” into his tone.

“They’re not too-“   A text alert had Merlin glanced down at his mobile, where the name “Cassie” was displayed.

“You are kidding me.  Absolutely not-”

Merlin held the mobile away from Arthur’s grabbing hand. “I’m sure it’s just a quick-“

“If you say ‘a quick question’ I’m going to throw this thing in the Thames,” Arthur pronounced, wrestling the device away from Merlin, and tossing it onto the couch.

“Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

Upon the couch, the mobile text alert went off again.

Arthur shoved Merlin by the shoulders toward the front door.  “Really, Merlin, you and I must have a talk about your technology addiction.”

Merlin mumbled something about a pot and a kettle, but let himself be dragged into the lift anyway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The car sent by the British Museum was sleek and black and the length of two cars combined. The interior was decadence itself; plush leather seats and dimmed lighting and soft music. On another occasion, Arthur might have been tempted to nap.  As it was, he was too distracted by his enticing warlock’s amusing efforts to discover every hidden food compartment in the cabin.

“Biscuits and sandwiches in this one,” Merlin said, and shut the seat panel.

Beyond the darkened glass windows, the grand buildings of London moved past, shadowy and muted.  Arthur ignored them, reclining back in the soft leather seat and watching Merlin hop into the seat opposite, to investigate yet another hidden compartment.

“Another refrigerator!” Merlin said, his voice muffled because he was bent double, peering beneath his seat.

“How in the world are you amazed by something like that, after fifteen hundred years of life?” Arthur asked, the words out of his mouth despite his intentions of not dredging up the past.

Merlin didn’t seem bothered, looking up at Arthur as if he were being intentionally daft.  “There are _two_ refrigerators,” he insisted.  “In a car.   When they don’t even need one!  Not with a Tescos every two minutes along the road.  Look!  Did you see that?  We just passed one!”

Arthur watched Merlin lean back in his seat, his head thumping against the dark glass separating them from their driver, as he fiddled with the dials set into the roof.  As the windows went up and down, Merlin shifted and let his legs fall open, his trousers so tight that Arthur could saw the shape of him between his thighs.

He’d seen a video like this, Arthur remembered.  Of two men in a formal vehicle.  One man reclined back in his seat, trouser front open.  With the other knelt before him, head bowed forward with mouth covering his-

“Arthur.”

Arthur licked his lips and dragged his gaze to Merlin’s face, noting the flush to his cheeks. “Hmm?”

“Will you knock it off?”

Arthur let his gaze travel back downward, a smile playing upon his lips.  “Knock what off?”

Merlin sat up and pressed his knees together, prim as a maiden. “You know exactly what.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Arthur asked, rather enjoying flustering Merlin for once.

Merlin leaned forward, hands upon knees, voice lowered.  “You’re looking at me like I’m an herb crusted capon, that’s what!”

“What an interesting choice of words.  Because I was just considering the things I could do to you with my-”

“All right,” Merlin’s interrupted loudly, and glanced over his shoulder at the driver.

“Oh calm down, he can’t see or hear us.”

“There could be a hidden camera in here!”

Arthur glanced around, but saw no evidence of Merlin’s claim.  Still, he wouldn’t put it past those video conference people to come up with such a thing.  Especially after that morning.

“Later,” Merlin reminded him.

Arthur gave a dramatic sigh of princely disappointment and leaned back in his seat, his legs falling open, his hand resting between this thighs, fingers sliding along his inseam.

Merlin made a choked noise and looked away, not so subtly adjusting his trousers, which was such a delightful sight that Arthur decided to try and abandon his old fashioned ideas of decorum.  They were nothing compared to watching Merlin squirm, not by any stretch of the imagination.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When they reached the museum, it took their car a while to drive slowly toward the front gates.

“This doesn’t look like a small reception,” Arthur said.

Merlin peered at the long line of cars letting other groups out up ahead. “I did mention that the guest list had grown by a few people.”

“This does not look like a few.”

“A few dozen?”

“A few hundred, is more like it.”

After several long minutes, during which Arthur watched people walking faster than they were moving, their car finally stopped at a set of open metal gates.  A wide red carpet stretched from the kerb and through the British Museum courtyard, all the way to the wide portico steps.

When Arthur climbed out of the car, he threw a hand in front of his eyes, shielding them from a barrage of flashing white light.  He felt Merlin’s hand on his arm, felt himself being pulled forward, past lines of police officers and low barricades on either side of their path, crowds of people behind them.

“What the hell is going on?” Arthur asked, and flinched at another flash of light.

“Why don’t I text Cassie and ask her?  Oh that’s right, I can’t!  Because some dollophead made me leave my mobile behind!”

Merlin kept muttering about it as they walked behind other groups of people through the courtyard and up the wide steps.  Music and voices echoed in the Entrance Hall, as formally dressed museum staff greeted everyone, their voices raised over music. 

Merlin was welcomed like the lord of the manor himself, everyone smiling and shaking his hand, before gesturing him and Arthur both toward the Grand Atrium.

Only a few steps inside it, Arthur stopped.

At his side, Merlin did the same.

“In what way,” Arthur asked, “is this a small reception?”

Over two hundred people in elegant dress milled around the enclosed space, their gowns and tuxedos and military uniforms softly lit by red light glowing up the walls.  Blue light shone down from the night-dimmed windows amid the white latticework above, and small lamps cast warm yellow glows from atop tall circular tables scattered all around.

High above it all, a dozen tall pennants hung down from the ceiling, each proclaiming The Books of Avalon.  And upon the marble walls, the paintings of Arthur that Merlin had sold him been hung all around. 

“Hell,” Merlin breathed out.

“A little more than you expected?”

“A little?  God, Arthur, it’s…”

Arthur turned away from the distorted images of their past, to find Merlin staring at it all, eyes moist and shining.

It means so much to him, Arthur thought. But then, of course it would.  For fifteen centuries Merlin had waited for the world to listen to his tale.  An agonising wait for anyone to be recognized for what he’d done. 

Arthur placed his hand upon Merlin’s shoulder.  “I think the museum did an excellent job.”

Merlin turned to Arthur, looking as though he’d been given an unexpected gift. “You do?”

“Yes.  I do.  A fitting tribute indeed.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do.”

Merlin’s entire expression transformed, his smile full of relief and joy.  “You have no idea how much I…”  His voice strangled the next words, and Merlin had to swallow hard, his bowtie bobbing at his neck, only barely holding himself together. 

So Arthur did what he knew would help him recover, wrinkling up his nose and pitching his next words into the teasing royal prat Merlin knew so well.  “Are you going to cry, Merlin?  Hmm?”

Merlin coughed out a silent laugh, rolling his eyes at him.

“Is that it?” Arthur went on, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re going to cry like a little girl?”

Behind him, the sound of someone clearing their throat.

And of course- of course- when Arthur turned round, he found Cassandra standing there.  She was stunningly beautiful in her tight red dress, long blonde hair loose round her shoulders, blue eyes striking without her glasses. 

“Arthur,” she said politely, irritated but forcing a smile.

“Cassandra,” Arthur replied, humiliated but suppressing a wince.

She stepped past him without another word, taking Merlin’s hand in both of her own. “Merlin, don’t you look smashing!  Looking like that, I hope the press didn’t mob you!”

“No, they- Why is there so much press, exactly?”

“The Museum Director notified the press of the event, as he always does of course.  Usually we’re entirely ignored, but I’m guessing that the attending royalty drew a fuss this time. Even the Royal Family is interested in seeing your manuscripts!  A shame they’re not here tonight. We’re arranging a private viewing for them next week, though.  You simply must attend!”

“Next week?” Arthur asked sharply.

Merlin cast a worried glance his way.  “Cassie, I-“

“Oh, look,” Cassandra said, slipping her hand around the crook of Merlin’s arm and guiding him forward. “It’s Niles Edwards and his Cambridge team!”

“They came in person?” Merlin asked, distracted at once by the grey haired academics standing around a nearby table.

Cassandra leaned closer to Merlin’s ear.  “They’re here for final contact negotiations.”

“Then they haven’t agreed yet?  To print the manuscripts the way I want?”

“Not just yet.  But I wager we can convince them.  Let’s give it a go, shall we?”

Arthur watched Merlin and Cassandra walk away, leaving him behind like a servant.

Which was fine, he reminded himself. Because this was Merlin’s night. Merlin had managed being mistreated for years, hadn’t he?  Arthur could surely endure it for one damned evening.

So he stood in sullen silence when they joined the group of old men, listening to Cassandra extol Merlin’s generosity and his devotion and the debt owed to him and his family for the donation of the books.

“It’s Arthur we should be thanking,” Merlin said, in the middle of her speech.

She startled, and glanced over her shoulder, to where Arthur was standing just behind the group. “Yes. Of course. Very good point, Merlin.  Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Lord Arthur Pendragon of Avalon.”

“Arthur Pendragon, really,” said one man, hiding a smirk behind a sip of wine, as a few of the others smiled in response.

“Yes,” Arthur said through a clenched teeth smile. 

“Arthur’s family provided financial contributions,” Cassandra said, then returned to their discussion of linguistics.

The next several minutes had Arthur studying the walls, and the ceiling, and the people around, bored out of his mind.  He barely noticed Cassandra smoothly ending the conversation, and felt a profound surge of relief, only to have it crushed rather abruptly as Cassandra guided Merlin to yet another group of people, where talk of linguistics started all over again.

It’s like one of Leon’s crop reports, Arthur thought.  Only worse, because this time he wasn’t able to end the meeting himself.

Occasionally Arthur noticed Merlin glance over his shoulder at him.  Arthur avoided his gaze every time he did it. If Merlin wanted the attention so much, then let him have it, after all.  Including the brain numbing conversations Arthur dealt with himself as king, while Merlin had been off having a good time with the other servants in the corner.

Which come to think of it…

Arthur stepped forward, a hand pressed to Merlin’s shoulder, leaning in to speak into Merlin’s ear.  “Pardon me…  Lord Hunithson?”

“Very funny,” Merlin grumbled out of the corner of his mouth. 

“My lord,” Arthur went on, careful to turn it into ‘you arse’ as well as Merlin ever did, “if you’ll kindly permit me to leave, I think I’ll go and get some wine.”

“I should do that-“

“Absolutely not.” Arthur pressed a hand to Merlin’s back when he made to follow. “I couldn’t possibly deprive these fine people of their guest of honour.  No, you stay here.  Keep talking about your diphthongs.”

Merlin started to protest, but was prevented by Cassandra loudly mentioning his name, drawing all eyes to him.

Arthur used the distraction to escape into the crowd.

He wandered for a while, occasionally grabbing glass of wine from a passing servant.  Overheard conversation was mostly trivial, having nothing to do with the actual event. So after a while he moved to the periphery, to stroll along the portraits along the wall of his own face.

They were, for the most part, more fanciful than inaccurate. Most only depicted the colour of his hair and his eyes.  Yet the one he paused before now bore a striking likeness, capturing even the set of his nose and his shoulders, as he was shown on horseback in armour and cape.

“My goodness,” said a woman nearby.  “You look like King Arthur himself.”

Arthur turned to see an old woman in a frilly purple dress and matching feathered hat, an even older man at her side, his tuxedo hanging upon him like a coatrack. 

Old royalty, Arthur thought.  He could recognize it in a dozen different ways.  Apparently some things really never did change.  “Pardon me, my lady?”

Her chin tipped up in regal approval of the title, her gaze flitting from his face to the painting and back again.  “Good heavens, it’s striking.  How much you resemble our beloved king.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Arthur told her, and bowed.

“And such good manners.  So refreshing to see.  Especially among the younger nobility.  And you simply must have noble blood in your veins, don’t you.  A strong nose like yours.”

Arthur picked up a wine glass from a passing servant, handing it to the woman, before taking one for himself.  “Is it truly so obvious, Lady…?”

“We are the Countess Elizabeth Maria Grace Farnsworth, of the Kent Farnsworths.  My husband is the Earl of Wessex, Gerrold Albert Longshire, son of Herbert.”

“Countess.  Earl.  A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Such excellent royal training,” the old woman said, and sipped at her wine.  “And whose son might you be?”

Arthur hesitated, caught off guard.  He hadn’t yet thought of a lie.  Not for that.  And in truth, couldn’t bring himself to do it.  So he opted for one of Merlin’s favourite tactics instead.  Answering, but not the question.  “My name is Arthur Pendragon, of Avalon.”

She arched one finely pencilled eyebrow.  “There are no Pendragons among British nobility.”

“I assure you, there are.”

“Oh come now.  If the Pendragons existed at all, their lineage would have died out with Arthur. Unless you’re suggesting that you’re a descendant of Arthur’s bastard son Mordred.”

Arthur choked on his wine.

“That’s the story, dearest, isn’t it?” the woman asked her husband, placing a thin hand on his arm to draw his attention.  “Mordred was Arthur and Morgana’s son?”

The old man nodded.  “Yes, dear, quite.”

“Morgana?” Arthur repeated. “But she was m-   She was… Arthur’s…“

“Half sister, yes.  It was all very sordid.  I never did like that part of the story, even as a child. I preferred hearing about the Knights of the Table Round, and the doomed love between Lady Guinevere and Sir Lancelot-  Oh!”

Arthur stared down at his broken wine glass on the floor, the red liquid spreading like blood upon white tile.

“My gown,” the older woman said severely, stepping away from the mess. 

“Pardon me,” Arthur choked out, turning to walk blindly through the crowded Atrium, bumping into shoulders he passed, all the while thinking that everyone here - everyone -  thought Mordred to be his son...  thought that he and Morgana had… And that Lancelot and Gwen…

Arthur saw the bar along the far wall.  Headed toward it through the scattering of half occupied chairs.  Nearly fell against it, palms pressing to cool wood, fingertips digging in, head ducked as he tried to catch his breath.

“You all right?” came a voice on the opposite side of the bar.

Arthur nodded, trying to find his voice.  When he looked up, the woman standing opposite him was giving him a very worried look.  “I’m fine,” he snapped.  “Just- Get me some wine.”

She nodded, and went to get his drink.

Voices echoed through the room, laughter ringing out among them, some of it very close by.

“Look at Cassie go!”

Arthur glanced behind him, and saw two women standing a few feet away, one ginger and short, the other brunette and taller, both of them staring across the room where Cassandra stood next to Merlin and a new group of devoted followers.

“She’s got him by the bollocks, that one,” the ginger girl said happily.

“Merlin’s smarter than that,” said her brunette friend. “He’ll see through her in a second.”

“I’ll lay you a tenner that she’ll get him to fund next year’s research.  Look-  Look!  She’s even flirting-“

“You’re forgetting about Mariko-“

“I’m not, and who knows, maybe Mariko would be into it.  You never know...”

“God, your dirty mind.”  The brunette shook her head and sipped at her wine.  “Come on, that’s not flirting, that’s arse kissing.  Same thing she does with all our benefactors. Probably learned it in America.”

“Looks like flirting to me.”

“Everything looks like flirting to you.”

“Must be her dress,” the ginger girl said, thoughtful.  “That thing should be classified as a weapon.  Bloody hell, I’m attracted to her, looking like that.”

“That’s because you have a thing for blondes.  Speaking of which… Where’s Merlin’s blond friend?  Cor, I still can’t believe you saw him starkers.”

Arthur turned back to the bar and stared down at his wine, sick with humiliation and fury, as laughter rang out behind him.

“Wish I was recording that, this morning!” the first girl said. 

“Fit, then, he was?”

“He was right fit.  And I do mean all of him!  Too bad he’s such a toff.  Bloody Arthur Pendragon.  As if that’s really his name…”

Another burst of laughter had Arthur downing his wine in one go, then pushing from the bar, past the two women whose laughter stopped abruptly as he passed.  He strode into the crowd, his face flushed with wine and fury, his gaze upon Cassandra and Merlin in the crowd.

They stood surrounded by young people this time, men and women in sleek black formalwear, all of them frowning at Merlin, who was shouting loud enough for Arthur to hear ten people away as he stepped behind them.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying!” Merlin was insisting.

“You honestly expect use to accept this outlandish version of the legend?” said one of the women, sharing an incredulous look with her colleagues.  “Merlin and Arthur the same age? Merlin a servant, hiding his magic?  None of those themes exist in any other version of the tale-”

“Yes, because the other versions are a bunch of bollocks,” Merlin snapped, loud enough to make Cassandra to choke on her wine.

“I’m merely saying,” the young woman went on, “that nowhere in Geoffrey or Troyes or Malory or White-“

“Who wrote their versions afterward-“

“Yes, and who didn’t include a single one of these expository aberrations-“

“Theirs are the aberrations,” Merlin interrupted, his voice deep and rough. “All that shite they added in-  About Gwen and Lancelot running off together- About Mordred being Arthur’s-“

“Son,” Arthur finished sharply.

Merlin turned and stared at him, as startled as if Arthur had run him through with a sword.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, barely able to keep himself in check, especially with the stares of these so-called academics upon him. “I’d never actually been told those parts of the legend.”

“Because they aren’t true!” Merlin cast a desperate look around the group. “You have to believe me!  Of all of the legends, mine are the only ones that are true!“

“With a unicorn?” the woman asked, through laughter.

“And a talking dragon?” said the man at her side.

“Don’t forget the skeleton army,” added another.

“The important thing,” Cassandra said, her voice cutting through the laughter. “regardless of your opinion of their veracity, is the value of the Books of Avalon.  They stand above all others, and always will, because they return to us our lost Brittonic heritage.”

“If the carbon dating can be trusted,” one of the men said dismissively, and sipped his wine.

“The highly skilled experts at the British Museum,” Cassandra said, for the first time sounding angry, “stand behind the dating of the manuscripts, and the claims of Merlin’s family, and will be forever in debt to them.  Not only,” she went on, when someone began to interrupt, “for their flawless preservation of our written heritage, but also for returning to us the spoken word.  Brittonic is truly beautiful to hear-“

“If the pronunciation can be trusted,” said another man.

Cassandra’s face had flushed, but she kept her expression under control, though her hand shook slightly as she rested a hand upon Merlin’s shoulder.  “Please, Merlin, won’t you speak a little of it?”

Merlin glared at them all in response.

“Or I could give a try,” Cassandra offered.

“You?” Merlin asked.

“I’ve been practicing with your recordings. Forgive me if I make a mistake, but…” She cleared her throat, then said:  “ _Gebhl an dmunwih, fhe allach_.”

The words punched Arthur’s breath from his chest. Because they were Merlin’s words, ever only meant for his king.

_As you wish, my lord._

Arthur stepped forward, cries for blood thundering in his ears. “Not bad,” he said sharply. “However your stress on _allach_ was quite… Well.  Suggestive, is the word I’d use.”

Cassandra’s shocked expression was the last thing Arthur saw, as he pulled Merlin away.

“Can you believe those utter tossers?” Merlin burst out, not two steps from the group. “Lecturing me about the truth!  Of my own life!”

“How very awful, to be so misunderstood.”

“I don’t just mean-“ Merlin stumbled and bumped into two men in military uniform.  “Will you let go?  I can walk on my own-“

“Is that so?  And here I thought you needed help, the way Cassandra kept leading you around.“

“She wasn’t-“  Merlin yanked his arm, but Arthur refused to let go.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“ _Gebhl an dmunwih, fhe allach_ ,” Arthur answered, in a mocking imitation of Cassandra.

“She was just quoting the book!”

“Yes, and sounding like a back tavern woman,” Arthur told him, and shifted direction, elbowing and shoving his way across the grand room, to the Gents room in a secluded corner.

“She didn’t mean to say it that way, it was just an accident.”

“Was it?  With her touching you all night? And you letting her?  Probably because of that dress that she’s wearing that should be classified as a weapon!”  Arthur grabbed the Gents’ door handle, yanked it open, and shoved Merlin inside.

As it closed behind them, Merlin stumbled into the white tiled room.  He caught himself on a row of sinks along a wall full of mirrors, and spun around furious and outraged. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Are you joking?” Arthur asked, his incredulous words drowning out the cloying music playing from the ceiling, because gods forbid anything modern was silent even for a second. 

“You’re acting like a child,” Merlin informed him, and then had the nerve to turn his back, yanking at his jacket in irritation.

Arthur’s patience shattered at the dismissal, like a tired blade upon sharp stone, loosing shards of frustration that spilled rage over the bloodied ground.

“Shall I make you a list?” Arthur ground out, advancing toward Merlin, who had gone still by the mirrors. “Shall I tell you, in order, all things that are wrong?”

“Arthur-“

“Let’s start with Mordred!” Arthur shouted, gratified when Merlin spun in place and winced.  “Or how people believe I slept with my own sister!   Or Lancelot making Gwen betray her king and her kingdom!”

“I tried to stop all that!“

“Not well enough!” Arthur shouted, loud enough for his words to echo in the room.

“Look, I know you’re a little upset-“

“A little!”

“All right a lot, fine, so let’s just-“

“Let’s just what?  Go explain to the people that they’re wrong?  That we’re not the fiction they think we are?  Or no, that won’t work,” Arthur went on, his fury finally overtaking him, words spilling from his mouth.  “So let’s just go out there and get shoved around on the floor!  And stand in queue for our drinks!  Because we have to do that now!  Which is-  Fine- I can do that- But then you go and make everyone kneel to me!  And the hotel servants – Employees!  Damn it! They keep calling me ‘my lord’! Do you know how confusing that is?”

Merlin licked at his lips, worry cutting through his own anger, as if Arthur had gone mad.

“And then you,” Arthur snarled, stalking forward, “who are the only damn thing that makes any sense- You kept letting that woman touch you, right in front of me-”

“She just wants more donations,” Merlin insisted, moving backward as Arthur approached.

“She wants more that. And she can’t have it.”

Merlin bumped into the wall, glared back at it, then at Arthur, something dark and dangerous in his eyes. “Anyway, so what if she does?”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s lapels, shoving him hard against the wall. 

“The hell is the matter with you!  Will you just-?”

“If you tell me to calm down one more time so help me-!“

“So help you what?” Merlin challenged, fingers closing around Arthur’s wrist, gold dancing beneath the blue, like a fire waiting to be lit. “What are you going to do, Arthur?  Huh?  What are-?”

“Shut up,” Arthur growled, and leaned in to claim his mouth.

Merlin bit his lip and shoved him back, then stood panting, hanging onto him. “You shut up,” he choked out, then hauled Arthur back in by the lapels, kissing him even more roughly.

Arthur shoved Merlin back against the wall, their tuxedos sliding between them.  Merlin retaliated by grabbing Arthur’s hair, fingers twisting painfully as he ravished his mouth. 

“Jealous _arse_ ,” Merlin growled, shoving a leg between Arthur’s thighs, grinding his hard cock against him.

“Insolence,” Arthur moaned, and matched Merlin’s thrusts with his own, delirious with how damned good everything felt.

Merlin’s hands landed hard on Arthur’s backside, fingertips pressing painfully in as he panted and moaned into his mouth. 

“ _Want_ you,” Arthur breathed.

“Yes, yes, I-  No, no, wait-  We’re in the-   Someone could-“

“Let them,” Arthur said, and sucked a mark into Merlin’s neck, his hand sliding down between their bodies, fingers rubbing the length of Merlin’s cock.

Merlin drew in a loud breath, shuddering.  “Oh god, that’s… yes, just like that-”

The sound of a latch clicking open interrupted him.

Arthur looked up, saw Merlin’s eyes glow golden, and heard the door slam with an ungodly screech, as if the metal frame had bent.

“Bloody hell,” Arthur groaned, and started pulling at clothing. 

Merlin did the same, his hands clumsy and fumbling because he was kissing Arthur again, sloppy and wet and urgent, until finally they’d opened their jackets and shoved down their trousers and pants.

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders and spun him around, shoving him hard against the wall.

“Bully,” Merlin choked out, the word transforming into a moan as Arthur pressed up against his back, cock sliding between the sweaty press of Merlin’s thighs. 

Arthur sucked a bruise into Merlin’s neck, half mad with need, because even this, even just rutting together, set his nerves aflame.

Merlin reached back for Arthur’s hand, pulling it around to his own cock, wrapping Arthur’s fingers tightly around it.  Arthur let himself be manhandled, thrusting his hips forward and back, wishing that he could take Merlin completely, right now, this very second-

“Want you,” Arthur moaned, and felt Merlin’s elbow land into his ribs.  He glanced down, startled at the rebuff, but realised Merlin was pulling something from his pocket.

“Use this,” Merlin said, and thrust a plastic packet into his hand.

When Arthur read the words upon it, he stared a breathless a moment in shock. “Harlot,” he said on a shaking breath, then ripped open the packet with his teeth.

“Come on,” Merlin demanded, pressing back against him again.

Arthur clumsily used the slick to prepare himself, then grabbed hold of Merlin’s hips and pressed in, eyes squeezed closed and jaw clenched in an attempt to not come that very second-

Merlin’s wanton groan didn’t help, nor did the full body shudder he gave as Arthur pressed deep into the tight heat of him.

“Bloody buggering _hell_ that feels good,” Merlin choked out, his hands clenching and unclenching on the tile, mouth open and pressed against it.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked out, overwhelmed by it all.

“Move,” Merlin told him, grabbing wildly for Arthur’s hip.  “Arthur, please-“

Arthur nodded and curled over Merlin’s back, his hands firm upon Merlin’s hips, as he rocked into him again.

Each claiming huffed Merlin’s breath from him, each one a moan of relief, the wet slaps of their skin indecent in the brightly lit room.

Merlin grabbed for his hand, pulling it around his hips.  “Touch me-“

“Say you’re mine,” Arthur told him, more a plea than a demand.

“I’m yours,” Merlin said, voice cracking on the oath. “I’m yours, I’m yours-”

“Yes,” Arthur moaned, and closed his hand around Merlin’s cock. “And I’m _yours_.”

Merlin shuddered and shoved backward, into the rhythm of Arthur’s hips, head falling back upon his shoulder, yielding completely at last.

All too quickly Arthur slid over the knife’s edge of pleasure, Merlin thankfully getting there just before him, his body clenching as he spent.

Arthur shoved them both forward against the wall, legs shaking so violently beneath him that he thought they might fall.

For a while, only breathless panting echoed through the room.

Merlin’s quiet sigh sent a warm gust of breath over Arthur’s lips, where his chin still rested upon Merlin’s shoulder.  In a daze Arthur opened his eyes, blinking over at Merlin, their noses bumping together.

At the contact, Merlin opened his eyes, gazing across the short distance, a crooked smile pulling up his lips, as if he’d just been given his hearts desire.  With a happy little hum he nuzzled at Arthur’s cheek.  Pressed a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s lips.  Said softly:  “My king.”

Arthur’s breath pushed from his chest.  Love came roaring in to fill the vacuum.  Because though many had loved him for his leadership, and many for his virtues, no one- not ever-  had loved him like Merlin.  In a way he couldn’t comprehend.  And absolutely didn’t deserve. 

Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin’s lips, trembling anew, his love for this man singing in his blood, surging forth with every beat of his heart.  Each one an I love you and an I don’t deserve you and don’t ever leave-

“Marry me,” Arthur burst out.

For several excruciating seconds, silence.

When Merlin leaned back, he looked stunned.

Arthur could hardly blame him, caught in a panic and frozen like a deer, wanting to bash his head against the tile, because he hadn’t just- he couldn’t have- oh hell- what had he just done-?

“What?” Merlin asked.

Arthur choked on a half formed word.

Which is when the banging resumed on the door.

And there had been banging before, hadn’t there, especially when they’d both been so very loud-

“Arthur,” Merlin said, sounding irritated.

“Shut up,” Arthur snapped at him, out of habit.   And then dropped his forehead to Merlin’s shoulder, and groaned.

Because by all the gods, what kind of utter moron would have a jealousy-fueled sexual encounter in a public washroom, follow it up with a marriage proposal, and then top it all off by telling the person they’d just proposed to that they should shut up?

Outside the door, the banging got louder.

Please let it be bandits, Arthur thought.  Bandits with clubs to knock head in, or better yet magic swords to kill him, to save him the trouble of throwing himself off a cliff-

Merlin shifted, bits of their bodies sliding wetly together.  “Could you just…?”

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, and stumbled back, bending awkwardly to pull up the tangle of trousers from around his ankles, nearly falling onto his arse as he did it.

Merlin managed it only slightly more gracefully, wobbling off toward the adjoining room where there were toilet stalls.

Arthur held up his trousers one handed as he washed his hand off at the sinks, avoiding his reflection as long as he could, but finally glancing up as he dried off his hands.

He was the very image of back room debauchery, cheeks flushed and lips plump, jacket off kilter and trousers open, panic and humiliation widening his eyes.

What had he _said,_ he thought in a panic.  Gods above… _What had he done_?

Outside the door came more banging. 

“Wait a damned moment!” Arthur bellowed.

The banging fell silent.

The toilet’s flush heralded Merlin’s return. Arthur spun toward the mirrors, doing up his clothes, to attempt to resemble a civilized human being.  He was still fussing at his jacket when Merlin appeared, rounding the corner from the stalls with tuxedo flawless once again, even his hair soothed back into place.  Only a purpling mark on his neck was any souvenir of their indiscretion.

Arthur tried not to stare at it.  Tried harder not to be pleased by it. But failed miserably on both counts.

Merlin didn’t notice it at first, too busy washing his hands.  But when he straightened to take in his appearance, he spotted the blemish, and his gaze slid over to where he saw Arthur’s reflection in the mirror.

Arthur struggled not to look away, shame twisting his stomach, more even than when Father had stripped his title, during that ordeal with the troll.

“Can’t believe…” Merlin was muttering, fingers pressing gingerly to his neck.

“Sorry,” Arthur told him

“No,” Merlin said. “You’re not.”

Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting on his feet.  Because no.  He wasn’t.

“I’m meant to give a speech,” Merlin said.

“A speech?”

“Tonight.  About the historical significance of my manuscripts.”

“I hadn’t known that.”

“Of course you didn’t.   Because it was meant to be a surprise.”

Arthur glanced furtively at the door, praying for the person who’d been banging to return, to avoid the building questions in Merlin’s troubled blue eyes. 

“So…” Merlin said, and then fell silent.

Arthur cleared his throat.  “Yes.  So.”

Merlin arched his eyebrows and crossed his arms, of course in this one damn moment deciding to hold his tongue.

“About what I said…” Arthur frantically cast about for something to say, to get back to his original plan, to undo all he’d done. 

“Yes?” Merlin prompted.

“It was... ill advised.”

Merlin flinched, blanching, as if he’d been slapped.

“No!  I mean, not-  No, just-  I hadn’t meant to say it.”

“You hadn’t meant to say it,” Merlin said, looking even more gutted.

“Look,” Arthur said quickly, “can we just forget that it happened, and-“

“You want to forget it _happened_?”

Arthur dragged his hands through his hair.  “Will you stop repeating everything I say!”

“I will if you start making sense!”

“I am making sense, you’re just not listening!”

“Oh really?” Merlin demanded. “What part didn’t I hear right?  The part where you asked me to- to-” He waved a frantic hand, apparently unable to give voice to the words. “Or the part that came after, when you said it was ill advised, and you hadn’t meant to say it, or that I should forget it like a bad joke!”  Merlin’s eyes went a bit wider. “Is that what that was?  A joke?”

“Of course it wasn’t a joke. You just aren’t understanding-“

“Oh I _understand_ all right!  I understand you’re an insensitive jackass who only thinks of himself, who got jealous because a woman paid _me_ some attention for once, and who asked me _that question_ to mark his territory like a stag in rut!”

“I’m _not_ a stag in rut,” Arthur heard himself protest, his damned stupid pride crowding out the truer cries of his heart. “I mean I- If you’d just let me explain-“

“Explain all you want!” Merlin slapped a hand to his neck, the blemish vanishing with a golden flash of his eyes. “I’ll be out giving my speech, which won’t be the one I wrote, because that one fails to mention that the King of Camelot is an _enormous arse_!”

As the word echoed from the tiles, Merlin thrust out his hand, closed his fingers on air, then yanked his arm backward. 

With a deafening screech the door ripped off its hinges, crashing to the washroom’s ceramic tile, startling the men and women in blue uniforms who stood with their tools beyond it. 

“About time you got here,” Merlin yelled at them as he marched over the fallen door.  “We’ve been stuck in here for an hour!”

The workmen and museum staff hurried out of Merlin’s way, as terrified as if they knew who he really was.   While they were distracted, Arthur followed Merlin out, hurrying into the dim lighting of the Grand Atrium, twice as full of people as it had been before.

Arthur nearly lost Merlin in the throng, finally spotting him over by the Reading Room, where a red ribbon had been draped over the entrance to the door.  A low podium had been set out in front of it, a round bald man standing anxious before it, Cassandra and several of her team looking greatly relieved as Merlin joined them there.

The two women who had mocked Arthur were there as well. Arthur ignored them, hurrying to catch up, because he could see things were ready to begin.

“Just a moment,” Arthur said, and caught Merlin’s arm.

Merlin pulled away. “They’re ready to begin the ceremony.”

“Five minutes is all I ask-“

“You just want to convince me not to tell everyone you’re a jackass.”

“Tell them whatever you like about me.  I don’t care.   Just- please.  Five minutes.”

Merlin stared at him, expression hard and full of mistrust, before finally relenting. “You have two minutes,” he told Arthur, then looked over at Cassandra.  “Then you can go ahead and begin.”

Arthur followed Merlin over to a spot beyond the edge of the crowd, near the curved wall of the Reading Room.  “You were right,” Arthur said, once they were alone.

“It was a joke?” Merlin demanded, pain eclipsing his anger.

“I would never joke about something like that.”

“You’ve made fun of me before.”

“Never about something so important, something so close to your heart.”

Merlin shifted on his feet and avoided his gaze.

“Merlin…”

“I suppose.  Yeah.”

Arthur took a half step forward.  Stopped himself.  “You were right,” he began, “about my behaving like a selfish jealous arse.  I was.  And I’m sorry. But you were wrong- completely- about why I asked you what I did.”

“The marriage proposal,” Merlin challenged, the words like a gauntlet at his feet. 

“Yes,” Arthur said.  “The marriage proposal.  It had nothing to do with marking territory or rutting stags or whatever else you said.”

“Well it sure felt that way.”

Arthur clenched his hands at his sides, vibrating with the need to take Merlin into his arms, to ease the pain from Merlin’s eyes, the pain he’d caused himself. “You have no idea,” he began, his voice rough, “how many times I’ve wanted to ask you that question.  Every day.  All day.  I’ve pictured it, and rehearsed it… so many times, Merlin.  But in all the ways I’ve imagined it… I never wanted it to happen that way.”

Merlin had gone still as he’d listened, looking at Arthur as if entranced.   “You’ve imagined… proposing?  To me?”

“Ever since our first night in Avalon.  I wanted to ask you then.  But I wanted our new beginning to be free of our past.  Free of all that pain.”

For a long while, conversation hummed around them, as Merlin stood there silently, looking as if he were working out a curious puzzle. “So… you meant it?” he asked, finally.

“I did.  I swear to you, I did.”

“But you asked me to forget about it.”

“I thought,” Arthur laughed at himself, staring across the room.  “I thought if we could pretend it didn’t happen, then I could still ask you properly.  The way you deserve.  And you deserve so, so much more than what happened.  But then… you deserve more than me, as well.”

Three echoing thuds drew their attention.  Conversation and music faded around them.  At the Reading Room entrance, a round man in museum uniform had climbed upon the low platform, and was standing before the podium.

In a voice that echoed from the walls, he bid everyone welcome.

“Go on,” Arthur said, when Merlin looked back at him. “They’re waiting for you.”

“But-“

“This is your moment, Merlin.  Long overdue, and well earned.  Go and enjoy the recognition you deserve.”

“Recognition I deserve?”

“You’re more than owed it, for all you’ve done.  For me.  For our kingdom.  For everyone standing here today.”

Merlin was frowning quizzically at him, in a way that suggested Arthur had got something spectacularly wrong.  “You really don’t understand, do you.”

“Understand what?”

“Listen to my speech,” Merlin said, drawing away.  “You will.”

Arthur followed him into the crowd, finding a space before the raised podium, as the Museum Director called Merlin to speak.

Thunderous applause rang through the Grand Atrium as Merlin stepped before the podium.

For some moments after it ended, Merlin stood there in silence, bathed in brilliant white light from above.  His skin glowed in its brilliance, pale and ghostly against the black fabric, red embroidered dragons dancing upon his waistcoat. 

“My name is Merlin,” he said finally, his deep voice echoing from the marble walls.  “It is my honour to donate the manuscripts you are about to see, not only to the people of these United Kingdoms, but to the greater world.”

Another wave of applause, as Merlin withdrew a folded piece of paper from his tuxedo jacket, and held it up.

“This,” Merlin told them all, “is the speech I was going to give tonight.  About the importance of the manuscripts.  About how I think every child should read them.  About how you all should accept them as the one true tale of Camelot.  The one true tale… of King Arthur.”

Arthur watched Merlin tuck the paper away, shaking his head.

“You have no idea.  How important that is to me.  How much I’ve wanted to put things right.  To correct the lies about him.  So that you can know the man- the king- and all he did for you.  I wanted it so much that I spent a very important time of my life distracted.  Working to make sure every single Brittonic word was understood.”

Arthur could barely keep from lowering his eyes.  Ashamed that he’d so completely missed one simple fact.

That none of this had been about Merlin.  Not a single moment of his toiling at the museum or his worry about the manuscripts had been for himself.

It had been, instead, for his king.

“In the end,” Merlin said, looking straight at Arthur now, “I don’t think it matters. If people read the stories.  Or if they believe them.  It won’t stop Arthur being your king.”

Arthur drew his shoulders back.  Jaw clenched and nodding.  Blinking back the moisture in his eyes.

Merlin shoved his hands in his pockets, giving a little self deprecating shrug. “That’s it, I suppose.  Except to tell you to read my stories.  If you do, I promise that you’ll find someone to look up to.  Someone to believe in.  And someone you’ll be ready to follow to the ends of the world.  I did, anyway.” 

With a nod, Merlin hopped down from the platform.

Confused applause followed his departure, tapering off as the Museum Director gathered his team near the ribbon over the Reading Room door.  After one last announcement to the crowd, he cut the ribbon in two.

The exhibition was open. 

People started filing into the room at once, flowing around Arthur like a stream emptying into a lake.  He held his place among them, there in the middle of the Atrium, until finally he was standing alone.

After the last people moved inside, Merlin left the group of museum staff, and walked over to where Arthur stood waiting.

“That,” Arthur said, once he could get his voice to work, “was some speech.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.  Very… enlightening.”

Merlin gave him that look that suggested Arthur was a little dim, but he loved him anyway. “You _honestly_ thought that I was doing all this for myself.”

Arthur glanced at the portraits of himself all over the walls, and cringed at his own stupidity.

“Don’t you remember what I told you?” Merlin pressed, sounding hurt.  “It was never about the credit, Arthur.”

A darkened forest, a desperate ride, and a final embrace all flitted through Arthur’s thoughts.  “I know,” he said.  “But just because you don’t ask for any credit, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.  You do deserve it.  As much as I do.  If not more.”

Merlin scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Arthur dared to take a step closer, though he kept his hands to himself.  “You’re always telling me I don’t pay attention. And yet you’re the one who won’t listen.”

“I listen,” Merlin protested. 

“Not when I tell you of your true worth.   To the world… and to me.”

Merlin’s lips parted on a startled breath, looking shocked by Arthur’s admission.

“You’re worth ten galas at a museum,” Arthur said, the words burning their way out of his chest. “Without me, without Camelot- Just you, on your own- You’re worth a thousand libraries full of books, and all the portraits that all the artists could ever-“

“All right,” Merlin said, low and rough, moisture shining in his blue eyes.

Arthur felt himself shaking, overcome with the urge to touch and hold, wanting to demonstrate what he couldn’t get out.  “I know you don’t like to-  Not in public, but- I wish-“

“Yes,” Merlin said, and closed the distance between them, hands cupping Arthur’s face to kiss him, right there in the middle of the room.

Arthur gathered Merlin into his arms, returning the kiss with equal passion, not giving even half a damn if anyone was looking, including that woman.

When Merlin leaned away, he rested his forehead against Arthur’s, thumbs tracing gentle circles upon Arthur’s cheeks.

“I can forget,” Merlin whispered.

“What’s that?”

“The thing you asked me before. I can forget.”

Arthur covered Merlin’s hands with his own.  Held them far too tight.  “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“You do?”

Merlin nodded, a quick jerk of his head.

Arthur gave a breathy laugh, thick with relief. “All right.  That’s… good.”

Merlin fell heavy against him, nose pressing into Arthur’s neck, hands grabbing at the back of his tuxedo jacket.

They held each other there, in the dim light of the Grand Atrium, soft music playing all around them, voices and laughter echoing from the exhibit where their past lay out for all to see.

“Can we leave?” Merlin murmured into Arthur’s shoulder.

“What, now?”

“Yes.”

Arthur slid his hands up and down Merlin’s back, wanting very much to go, but setting his own desires aside.  “Don’t you want to see your manuscripts on display?  Or say goodbye to your museum friends?”

“I don’t mean the museum.  I mean London.  I want to leave London.”

“You do?”

“Well.  Unless you want to stay.”

Arthur placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and guided him away.  “Merlin…”

“I mean yes,” Merlin said, smiling at himself. “Yes.  I want to leave.”

“If that’s what you really want…”

“Oh it really is, believe me.”

The insistence had Arthur’s eyebrows arching up in surprise, and Merlin shifting slightly on his feet. 

“I mean,” Merlin amended, “it’s nice here and all, but it’s just…”

“It’s just..?”

“So crowded,” Merlin burst out, exasperated.  “There’s all these people and lorries and cars, and- Did I tell you I nearly got run over by a bus today? And then I got lost, twice, because the buildings block out the sun, and I can’t even use the river to help, because sometimes it goes north and sometimes it goes south, and I can’t use my magic without feeling all that iron and steel jammed in the earth, and- What?  What’s so funny?”

“You don’t like it here!” Arthur choked out through his laughter.

“That’s not true.  I mean.  I like parts of it.”

“It’s driving you mad being here too!  It isn’t just me!”

“Wait, what?  That’s-”  Merlin smacked Arthur’s chest in outrage. “You said you liked it here!”

“Well so did you!”

“Are you kidding me?  Why didn’t you say something!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because-“  Merlin began, but didn’t finish, realization dawning. 

Arthur nodded at him, because yes, his reasons were the same.  “You thought I wanted to stay here so you didn’t complain.  Just the same as me.”

With an enormous groan, Merlin collapsed against Arthur’s chest, arms flung around his shoulders. “We are idiots,” he mumbled into Arthur’s neck.

“Well meaning idiots,” Arthur agreed. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t say something.”

“I can believe you didn’t say anything, however,” Arthur said.  “Self sacrificing idiot.  Another old habit of yours.”

“I’m not going to stop putting you first,” Merlin said, defiant.

“Nor am I, when it comes to you.”

Merlin sighed against Arthur’s skin.

Arthur brushed his lips against Merlin’s ear. “At least promise me one thing?”

“Hmm?”

“The next time you catch yourself, putting my interests ahead of yours, try to be honest with me about how you feel.”

“I’m not really good at being honest.”

“I know.  But I’m little better.  Still, I’ll promise to try if you will.”

Merlin looked up with a small smile, and clearly began to agree, but then paused, looking guiltily over Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur glanced over to see Cassandra in her red dress by the Reading Room door.  Her arms were flung open as a lovely dark haired woman from the far east hurried toward her.  When they met, Cassandra swept her into her waiting arms with a squeal.

“So that thing you were saying about honesty,” Merlin began.

Arthur watched the women release one another, only to fall into a lengthy kiss. “They seem… friendly.”

“They should be. Mariko is Cassie’s wife, after all.”

“Her- what?”

Merlin had the decency to squirm, though just a little.  “They got married last year. It’s been really hard for Cassie, having Mariko off taking care of her mum in America for the past month.  I’m glad Mariko made it back in time for- Ow!“

“You knew she was married!”

“Only a few days-”

“A few-!  That’s since we met!  You knew all this time and you didn’t tell me!”

“Did I not mention it?” Merlin pretended to think, his lips twitching up in amusement. “Huh.  I could have sworn I did…”

“You absolutely did not.”

“Oh, that’s right.  I didn’t.  Intentionally.  Because it was too fun watching you act like a jealous prat.”

Arthur glared over at where Cassandra and Mariko stood talking.  “Are you certain she only likes girls?  The way she had her hands all over you-”

“I told you, Arthur.  She’s just like that.  All that time she spent in America.  She says they’re much more touchy there.  She apologised for doing it to me more than once, actually.”

Arthur ground his teeth together and glared at him.

“She was after my money,” Merlin said, defiant.  “Well, not her, exactly.  The museum.  The Museum Director knows I have a manor full of antiquities, and could probably fill up a wing with all those things.”

“My things, you mean.”

“Yes, Arthur, your things.”

“You should have told me she was married.”

“What, and missed out on all the astonishing sex?”

“Astonishing?”

“The angry sex was quite fun too,” Merlin said, with a glance to the Gents’.

In a rush, Arthur remembered all the times he’d been tormented into arousal, driven by jealousy or by pride or by-  “You’ve been driving me mental on purpose, because you wanted a tumble in _bed_?”

Merlin shrugged, unrepentant, and slid his hands up Arthur’s lapels.  “The jealousy sex was best of all of it.  Makes me want to find even more ways to keep you jealous-”

“You absolutely will not.”

Merlin gave him a look, wicked and sly.

“When you and I get back to the hotel,” Arthur told him sternly, “we are going to have a very long discussion about our physical relations.”

“Oh right. Like you can actually talk about sex without blushing and changing the subject.”

“Open communication is an essential part to any safe, _consensual_ sexual relationship.”

Merlin’s cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “You read that somewhere, didn’t you.”

“Yes, I did.  On the internet.  I had a very enlightening afternoon of research.  I discovered quite a long list of things we’ve been neglecting doing together.  Or should I say, things _you’ve_ been neglecting doing _to me_.”

“To you?” Merlin asked, looking as if Arthur had swatted him round the head again.

“All this time you’ve been making me do all the work,” Arthur said sternly.  “It’s time that I get to be the one laying there lazily on the bed, while _you_ do the work of fucking me through the mattress instead.”

Merlin gave a strangled noise, eyes going wide, cheeks flushing pink.

“Ha!” Arthur said, victorious.  “I’m right!”

“You…”  Merlin cleared his throat.  “You were researching… on the internet… about…?”

“Everything,” Arthur informed him, and gave Merlin a wicked smile.

Merlin shifted on his feet, then tugged down the front of his tuxedo jacket.

Arthur glanced at his hips in vindictive satisfaction.  “I told you tight trousers were a bad idea.”

“Shut up,” Merlin muttered, and glanced around. “So.  Um.  Can we go now?”

“Go?” Arthur asked innocently.

“To the hotel.”

“Ah, yes,” Arthur said sweetly, urging Merlin toward the exit.  “The hotel.  But first, we need to make a stop.”

Merlin gave an awkward little dancing step as they headed to the exit. “A stop?  What kind of stop?”

“Why, to go find toads for your friends the fish, of course.”

“Can’t we do that later?”

“You did promise to do it, did you not?”

“Yes, but-  What about that other thing?  The thing you said before-”

“That you should fuck me through the mattress?” Arthur asked, and was rewarded for his vulgarity by the sight of Merlin slapping both hands to his face.

“Will you keep your voice down?” Merlin mumbled into his hands.

“You’re blushing,” Arthur said triumphantly, pulling at Merlin’s hands.

Merlin swatted at him.  “I am not!”

“You really are,” Arthur pointed out.  Perhaps having sex in the Gents had cured him of his own modesty, because not a tace of heat touched his own cheeks.  “Don’t worry Merlin.  It’s adorable.”

“Oh shut up!”

The words echoed in the entry hall as they exited the Grand Atrium, making the few people lingering there turn and stare at them.

Merlin grumbled low and gave another little hopping step, tugging at his trouser leg below the bulge straining his trousers.

“It’s astonishing you can walk at all, in that condition.”

“Will you stop talking about it?”

“What, your erection?”

Merlin swore in Brittonic and tugged with both hands at the front of his jacket, then swatted at Arthur’s arm for good measure.

“We’ll start in St. James Park,” Arthur continued, relishing his creative punishment of Merlin’s taunting him with that woman.

“Are you seriously going to make me look for toads now?”

Merlin’s whining was like sweet music to his ears, holding echoes of red pennants and ancient stone and spires upon the hilltop.  “Oh come now, Merlin.  It’ll be fun.  You can chat with the crickets and waterbugs.  And sing little songs with your friends the fish.  And if you can’t find any toads after a couple of hours-“

“A couple of hours?”

“-then you can look in the mud and the muck along the Thames.  Though we may have to wait until low tide.”

Merlin’s groan echoed through the empty courtyard.

“Once we’re done,” Arthur said, “then we’ll go back to the hotel and do everything you want to do.  To make amends for tormenting me about Cassie.”

“Oh, so she’s Cassie now?”

“Lovely woman, I always thought.”

“You did not.”

“I really didn’t. If all Americans are like her, I may have to reconsider our trip to Florida.  I don’t like people putting their hands on me all the time.” 

“Or me,” Merlin said smugly, in an echo of Arthur’s jealous turn of thought. 

“But where was I?   The mud, the muck, the toads… Ah yes.  I was beginning to list the ways you were going to earn my forgiveness, for tormenting me.  I believe that will start in the tub.”

“After mucking about in the dirt I’ll be needing a bath.”

 “I was thinking rather more along the lines of a particular video I saw.  These two men were bathing, and when they were done, the first knelt behind the second, and used his mouth in a particularly filthy way that seems right up your street, that filthy mouth of yours.”

Merlin tripped over the doorframe and stumbled out onto the portico.

Arthur laughed and steadied him, escorting him by the arm down the steps, quite enjoying Merlin’s look of shock. “I see you’ve heard of it, then?” he pressed.

“I- You- _How_ -“ Merlin stumbled down the last step and would have fallen, if Arthur hadn’t caught him around the waist.

The evening air was cool upon Arthur’s face, the city lights in soft contrast to the darkening night sky, the hum of machinery and voices distant and muted.  Arthur paused at the bottom of the museum steps, for the first time not minding.  Not with Merlin so close, and the thought of their new life together even closer.

“Come here,” Arthur said, and pulled Merlin closer, to brush a kiss to his lips. 

When he leaned away, Merlin just stared at him, all confused arousal and deceptive youth and more precious than any antiquity the museum had on display. 

Arthur leaned in as if to give him another kiss, then paused, smiling.  “Toads,” he whispered.

Merlin’s groan echoed through the night air, as Arthur walked at his side through the courtyard, leaving the echoes of the past behind.

*************

When they returned to the hotel, it was mud spattered and stinking of pond water, from them both chasing toads through the shallows, laughing like delinquent boys.

Arthur’s cheeks were sore from smiling, though he couldn’t stop himself from doing it, as they returned to their flat with Merlin happily telling his plastic bag full of toads all about their future home, and how much they were going to enjoy it once they snuck them there later that night.

As Arthur stood in the doorway of their washroom, watching Merlin settle the toads into the sinks, he wondered if perhaps Merlin’s magic had changed more than just his hair that night, because by the gods, he looked so very young.  His voice was lilting and excited as if the fair had come to town, his cheeks constantly rounded with his grin, his prattle filled with laughter as one of the toads complained about the delay going to its new home.

“Be patient,” Merlin told it, as he washed his hands in the neighbouring sink.  “You’re just as bad as a certain royal prat I know.”

Arthur stepped behind Merlin as he straightened, arms sliding around his waist, chest pressing to Merlin’s warm back, chin resting upon his shoulder.  As Merlin covered his arms with his own, Arthur realised that Merlin wasn’t the only one who looked younger.  He did so as well. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the magic, he thought, and watched his image be overtaken by a besotted smile.  Perhaps it was something else instead.

“Take me to bed?” Arthur asked, soft.

Merlin smiled, his hands running up and down the length of Arthur’s arms.  “You mean… like you were saying earlier?”

“Yes.”

Merlin licked at his lips, his head ducking. “You… you have no idea how much I…”

“Want to fuck me through the mattress?” Arthur teased. 

But the look Merlin gave him in the mirror, pained and longing and worried all at once, had Arthur letting go of the humour, and pressing a soothing kiss to Merlin’s neck.

“Whatever you want,” Arthur whispered.  “Anything you want.  For as long as you want.”

Merlin swallowed so hard that his bowtie bobbed, blue eyes shining with moisture.

Arthur took his hand and guided him to bed, Merlin looking stunned as ever he had.

The toads had been forgotten, after that. 

For quite a while, in fact.

Arthur spared them a thought now, as a croak pierced the fading haze of his pleasure. 

His breathing was still as labored as if he’d trained in the sun, his heartbeat thumping away against Merlin’s chest, likely because his exhausted sorcerer had collapsed in a naked sprawl atop him after a job very well done.

With a sigh Merlin lazily pressed his hips again against the cradle of Arthur’s spread thighs, softening cock sliding slick within his body, already a familiar stretching sensation.  Arthur shuddered as Merlin did it again, somehow wringing even more pleasure from his exhausted body, making his arms tighten around Merlin’s shoulders, his legs wrapped around Merlin’s waist.

It was already so familiar.  The thick intrusion of Merlin’s cock. The weight of Merlin’s body.  Being pressed down to the bed. 

“Wasn’t bad at all,” Arthur sighed out, which was a vast understatement, especially considering his complete inexperience in this area of their physical relationship.

“Mmmmmm.”

“I was quite exceptional, in fact.”

“Mmm hmmmm.”

“Eloquent as always.”

“No blood in my brain.”

“Same as always then, I see.”

From the washroom came the sound of croaking, and of toads hopping around the sink.

“I think your friends want your attention,” Arthur whispered into his ear.

“They can wait.”

More croaking, this time louder.

Merlin sighed and pushed himself to his elbows, head lifting with hair wild and face red. “Settle down, you lot,” he called.

“Well that should work,” Arthur chuckled.

Merlin looked back down at Arthur with mouth open on a sarcastic reply, but then stopped, and stared.

“What is it?” Arthur asked softly, because Merlin was looking at him in awe, reverent and wondering, as if he he’d never been given the pleasure of beholding him before.

Under the force of Merlin’s adoration, Arthur gave a lopsided smile. “Are the toads tiring of our sinks?”

Merlin nodded absently. 

“We should do something about that,” Arthur said, and brushed the hair from Merlin’s brow. 

Merlin had changed it during their lovemaking, to allow Arthur to slid his fingers through the sweaty curls, just as he was doing now. 

“Better like this,” Arthur said, and tucked black hair behind Merlin’s round ear.

Merlin kept staring, that look of dazed awe on his face.

“What?” Arthur asked, gentle.

“I honestly can’t think of the words,” Merlin said.

“For what?”

Merlin took hold of Arthur’s hand.  Pressed his palm to his lips. “To tell you how much I love you.”

It took a while for Arthur to respond. “If you ever figure them out,” he said, rough voiced, “please tell me what they are?  I’ll want to use them, when I ask you for your hand.”

The smile Merlin gave him was like sunrise over Camelot, brilliant and blinding, glorious as the morning air, reflecting the purest beauty in his kingdom. 

Arthur did the only thing he could in reply, which was to pull all that beauty into his arms, kissing Merlin with all the tenderness his heart possessed. 

The toads had waited this long for their new home. 

They could certainly wait a bit longer.


	6. a soft epilogue my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains brief homophobic scene that is swiftly addressed with an enthusiastic arse kicking.

Merlin woke to the sound of Arthur’s snoring.

Arthur lay heavy and naked at his side, his body slick with sweat beneath the blankets, his leg shoved uncomfortably between Merlin’s thighs, his regal nose pressed into the space beneath Merlin’s ear.

 _Alive_ , Merlin thought. _He’s alive, he’s alive…_

Arthur gave another snore, this one enough to rattle the windows, but Merlin only smiled, so overwhelmed by bone-deep joy that tears swelled thick beneath his closed eyelids.

 _My king_ , he thought, and pressed a helpless kiss to Arthur’s head. 

My golden, beautiful king...

He had no idea how his life had become so perfect. How things had wound up with Arthur laying naked in his arms in a ludicrously overdone flat in London.  He’d never in his life imagined a single moment perfect as this. 

With a shaking sigh, Merlin tilted his head on the pillow, breathing in the sex-soured vanilla scent of Arthur’s smooth hair, easily one of his favourite smells in all the world.

Arthur squirmed and grunted a complaint, making Merlin realise he’d been absently dragging his fingertips up and down Arthur’s bare back.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and forced his hands to still, as beyond the windows Big Ben chimed the hour.

Ten in the morning, he thought.  Later than they’d intended to get up.  Later than they’d intended to leave, in fact. 

He supposed he should care more about that.  But he didn’t, not even a little.  Not with Arthur in his arms, his stale breaths gusting over his skin. 

What did he need from world, after all?  He had everything he needed right here.

He must have drifted back asleep, because the next thing he knew, Merlin felt Arthur kissing him awake, a calloused hand sliding down his stomach.

“Mmm,” Merlin sighed, and lazily opened his eyes.

The bedroom curtains were still drawn against the day, muted shafts of sun cast into the room, dust motes hanging within them.  The subdued light softened Arthur’s sharp jawline, erasing the wrinkles from around his eyes, turning him into the youth Merlin had first met in Camelot.

Arthur shifted closer as he watched, propped up on one elbow, soft shadows sliding temptingly over the muscles of his bare chest.  “Someone’s awake,” he said, rough and pleased, dipping a wandering hand down between Merlin’s legs, briefly palming the hardening length he found there.

Merlin smiled as Arthur’s gaze drifted down his body, lingering a while upon Merlin’s bared chest, before drifting to the bunched up covers over Merlin’s hips, and the rise of his cock beneath it.

As Arthur watched, oddly fascinated with lips gently parting, Merlin felt a swell of pride at the mess he’d made of Arthur’s hair.  It was particularly tangled in the back.  Probably from Arthur’s royal head rubbing against the sheets as Merlin had-

Merlin closed his eyes, his breath catching even at the thought.

It had been something out of a filthy fantasy, what had happened the night before.  Arthur pulling Merlin down atop him, legs falling open to invite him in the cradle of his hips. Arthur saying “ _I’ve been doing my research_ ” like the experienced back tavern harlot he wasn’t, instead of the utterly untried man that he was.

Only when Merlin had started pressing his cock inside- shaking himself to pieces and half mad with desire at what was happening- only then had Arthur’s eyes gone wide with innocence and shock, but only for a second, until he shuddered and moaned, grabbing Merlin by the hips to pull him hard and deep inside.

 “It’s like watching a tent pole slowly lifting,” Arthur mused, bringing him back to the moment.

“Your fault,” Merlin said with a wistful smile, remembering how Arthur had nearly shouted himself hoarse, that second time last night.

“My fault?  What about you?  That filthy mind of yours...”

“You’re one to talk.  That thing you- You-  Mmm that feels good…“

Arthur chuckled, low and pleased, and dragged his fingertips along the length of his cock once more, instantly lighting up every single nerve in Merlin’s body, making him whimper and writhe despite himself.  “This,” Arthur said smugly, “is definitely my favourite way of shutting you up.”

“Better than a bucket of water?” Merlin managed to get out, and blinked open his eyes, smiling.

“Much better,” Arthur said, smiling as he lazily watched the motion of his hand beneath the blankets.

“Keep this up, and you won’t get a lie in today either.”

“Who said a lie-in involves sleeping?” Arthur asked, in his ‘you’re being an idiot’ voice, fingers loose around him, touching him the way Merlin now knew Arthur liked it himself, teasing and slow with a hint of filthy promise. 

Which was not want Merlin wanted this morning, and he tried to show Arthur that by reaching down and closing his hand around Arthur’s.  “Could you just-?”

“Let me do it,” Arthur said, and slapped his hand away.  “You know, I’m eventually going to show you that this doesn’t have to be a race.  If you do it right, it can last for hours.”

Merlin only barely held back the whimper at the mental images that idea provided.  “I’m just saying, this one time-“

“No,” Arthur drawled out.

“If you just let me show you-“

“You don’t have to _show me_.  I know what I’m doing.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Right, you know what you’re doing, because you’re such an expert at being in bed with a man.”

In response, Arthur gave him a disturbingly sly smile.  “You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“I can use the internet.” 

Merlin watched Arthur slide lower on the bed.  “What does that mean?”

“Why don’t I show you,” Arthur said slyly, and dragged the blankets over his head.

Merlin shoved himself up onto his elbows, staring in stunned astonishment at the shifting mound of covers, thinking no, Arthur couldn’t be intending to- He’s couldn’t possibly want to-  He hadn’t yet anyway, so-

“Just lay still,” Arthur said, muffled. 

With a startled groan Merlin collapsed to the mattress, the world narrowed down to the slide of Arthur’s lips down his cock, and the heat of his mouth, and- _oh, oh_ \- the slide of his tongue- astonished that he’d imagined this so wrong too. 

And of course he had imagined it.  Arthur doing this to him.  Often, and in detail, those long centuries he’d been alone.  But none of his fantasies had prepared him for Arthur’s eager moans vibrating through his skin, nor the shuffle of blankets as Arthur’s kingly head bobbed up and down, nor the perfect slide of Arthur’s rough tongue or his tight mouth or his wet lips or his-

“Teeth!” Merlin yelped, and jerked on the bed.

“Bloody well hold still then,” Arthur said peevishly, his voice sex soaked and rough.  “Gods’ sakes, Merlin, I’m already doing all the work.”

“Sorry!” Merlin heard himself say, fisting handfuls of sheets to keep from shoving Arthur’s head back where he wanted.

“You should be.  Now stay still.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin blurted out, which should have been embarrassing but wasn’t, because Arthur gave an approving hum right into his cock, as he bent back to his work.

And all Merlin could do was clutch handfuls of blankets, feeling Arthur tend to him with singular talented focus, because he was Arthur Bloody Pendragon.  And Merlin’s last conscious thought, before his head was emptied with his desire, was that he _really_ had to stop taunting Arthur about his mobile, if it meant Arthur giving him more moments like this.

**************

As they packed, Arthur was insufferably smug.

His constant grin surpassed even his post-tourney-victory grins, venturing into new heights of preening satisfaction, which for Arthur was truly saying something.

The worst part was that Merlin wasn’t even bothered, because when it came down to it, Arthur was smug because he’d sucked Merlin’s cock so well, and gods above wasn’t that a happy thought.

Merlin hummed as he sorted and packed, lost in the pleasant memory of Arthur’s mouth on his cock, so distracted that everything took him twice as long. 

Arthur seemed not to care, ambling around as if supervising, occasionally stepping close to say “You forgot the shampoo” in a way that turned the innocent words into a back tavern proposal.

When the hotel staff arrived for their luggage, Merlin escaped to the patio.  He was stood at the low wall overlooking the Thames, still adjusting his jeans, when he heard Arthur come outside to join him.

“Having a problem with your trousers?” Arthur asked, as he pressed himself all along Merlin’s back, arms slipping easily around Merlin’s waist.

Merlin leaned into the embrace, giving his waistband one final tug. “Your fault,” he pointed out.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it,” Arthur said, and rested his chin upon Merlin’s shoulder. 

For a while they stood together, the warm July breeze catching their clothes and hair, the summer sun shining down on the city, as ferries sped up and down the River Thames.

“Time to go?” Merlin asked.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Merlin looked out upon the city, remembering all the ways he’d seen it before, large and small, aflame and in ruins, reborn and rebuilding, stone and steel and glass rising higher and higher. 

Downriver, he spied several small black shapes high in the air, soaring on the updrafts, joyous and free.

Just like me, he thought.  I’m free too.  Arthur and I both. Free of the past.  Free of obligation.  Free to do whatever we want, however we please.

“Free,” Merlin whispered to the ravens, daring to say the word aloud.

“What’s that?”

Merlin squeezed Arthur’s arms.  “I said that it’s time to go.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed.  “I do believe it is.”

****************

“Your car is by the front entrance, my lord,” said one of the young men, pulling their luggage cart out the lift doors and across the pond bridge, toward a lobby filled with people.

As Merlin stepped off the bridge, he heard a splash, and spotted George swimming in happy circles by the thick plants lining the walls, his tail splashing at the surface.

“Let me guess,” Arthur said.  “He wants to say goodbye.”

“It’s almost like you can speak fish yourself, sire,” Merlin said, wry.

Arthur nudged at his ribs. “Go on.  Say your goodbyes.  I’ll make sure the employees don’t injure your precious car.”

“Employees-“  Merlin blinked.  “You said that.”

“Yes, I did,” Arthur said, and leaned in to kiss him, a casual brush of his lips, before walking off into the lobby, more regal in his red t-shirt and blue jeans than any of the nobility around him.

“He kissed me,” Merlin said, feeling struck round the head at how quickly and casually it had all happened.  And how natural it had felt.  “He actually just-“

Another splash had droplets of cold water splashing his bare forearm.

“All right, all right.” Merlin knelt down by the water’s edge, studying the thick green leaves stretching into the pond, and the fish who slept or played among them.

When Merlin dipped his hand into the water, George swam beneath his fingers, his smooth skin brilliant white among spots of orange and red.

 “Well you’re certainly looking much better.  No more of those nasty scales, eh?  Your tail feeling stronger too?  Yes, you’re much better, aren’t you...”

“Extraordinarily well, in fact,” came an older man’s voice.

Merlin watched two polished shoes take position by his side, beneath a set of immaculately pressed hotel uniform trousers.  “Good morning, William,” Merlin said, suppressing a cringe.

“It’s a rather shocking recovery,” William went on, “considering he has been seriously ill for some time.   In fact, the beloved pet of His Royal Highness King George the Sixth was not expected to survive the end of this month.”

The catch in William’s voice had Merlin looking up, at the older man’s face.  His narrow chin was tipped up, his thin lips pressed tight, more concern wrinkling his face than Merlin would have expected.

“This morning,” William said sharply, “I received a report from my team.  Not only is George fully recovered, but the pond in which he lives is free of harmful bacteria, and of parasites, and of all the other problems that have plagued us for years.”

Merlin met the older man’s gaze, unflinching beneath his accusations, all too familiar with his suspicions, after so many centuries of life.

“And _then_ ,” William added, “there are these plants.  Which surveillance video suggests grew from concrete walls in five minutes, belonging to a species our botanists cannot identify.  There was one person, _my lord_ , with his hands in the waters at the time of the incident.”

“Me,” Merlin said.  “Yeah.  I remember.”

“Would you care to _explain_?”

Merlin tilted his head at the old man, unflinching.  “They’re helping the fish, though.  These pants.”

Williams lips pursed then pressed thin, before he nodded in answer.

“So I don’t suppose you could be happy.  With how everything turned out.  Without knowing how I did it.”

“Then you admit it?  It was you?  You did something to my fish?”

“Your fish?” Merlin repeated, wondering at the old man’s fury, as if this were deeply personal to him, as if he were defending Queen and Country-

From the pond, a frantic splashing. 

George was swimming in circles, ripples swirling out into the water. 

“What is it?” Merlin asked, and touched the water. 

A vision appeared on the ripples.  Of a brown haired young man newly arrived in London, smelling of the sea and radiating love for the ocean.  A love so obvious and pure that it caught the attention of a visiting King, who entrusted his own boyhood pet to the young man, after eliciting a promise that it would always be under his care.

“It was King George,” Merlin said, looking up at the old man, seeing the brown haired boy he’d once been.  “You gave King George your oath you would care for this pond and watch over his fish.   _That’s_ why you’re taking this so personally- Why you haven’t retired-  All because you-“  Merlin’s throat went tight, choking on the words. “Because you promised your king...”

The colour drained from William’s wrinkled face so quickly that Merlin surged to his feet, grabbing the old man’s arms to steady him as he swayed.

“Sorry,” Merlin breathed, shocked at what how much revealed.  There was no way he could have known any of that.  He was fairly sure only the man’s wife knew. “Really, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“How?” William asked, more curious than frightened, and all at once, Merlin could see it, why this man had won the attention of a king.

“Arthur is going to have a fit,” Merlin muttered, but found himself smiling.  He was meant to be hiding his magic, not revealing it in such a way.  Though perhaps he didn’t have to do it just now.  “Right,” Merlin told the man. “So there are two ways this can go.  Option one is that I make you forget it ever happened.  Which I can’t do, because of your oath.”

From the water, a splash.

‘I wouldn’t have anyway,” Merlin scolded the frantic fish, before looking at William’s stunned expression. “So.  That leaves option two. Do you want to know what that is?”

William’s thin lips parted on a silent word, his white eyebrows lifting.

“Good.  So.  Option two is that I tell you the truth.  Or, the most important part, anyway.  Which is that George will live a full life, free of pain, in waters that will never know disease.  That’s my promise to you.”

Another splash, and a few croaks nearby. 

“And to you,” Merlin laughed at the small creatures watching him.  He let go of William’s shoulders, adjusting the lay of his jacket, because some old habits died hard.  “So tell your bioscience teams to run their tests.  When you see that I’m right, do yourself a favour.  Take your wife for a weekend holiday to Lake Avalon.”

“Lake Avalon?” William repeated, as Merlin fussed at his clothes.

“Find the lovely café there.  In the stone manor by the shore.  Ask to speak with a woman named Eleanor. She’ll give you all the answers you want.”  Merlin paused with his hands upon William’s lapels.  “Actually, she might offer you a job.  We’ve been looking for someone to tend to the greenhouses and watch over the lake.  It’s been a bit much for Danyl with everything else he’s been doing.”  Merlin gave William’s lapels a final swipe of his hands.  “Nice place to retire, Avalon.”

Within the pond, a splash of protest.

“Well of course you’d be coming too,” Merlin said, and rolled his eyes at the indignant fish.  “Royalty, right?” he asked William, sharing a wink with him as he turned to leave.

He’d made it half a dozen steps into the lobby before William finally found hise voice.  “Lord Hunithson-“

“I’m not a lord, I’m a servant!” Merlin laughed over his shoulder, and pulled out his mobile, to text an old friend.

 

**************

The drive to Dover took two hours on the motorway.  Merlin’s nerves were crawling by the time he parked in the seaside town, on a winding hill leading up to the castle.

“There has got to be better way to travel,” Merlin told Arthur, once they’d sat at a small café overlooking the sea, its scattered tables filled with locals. “Damned motorways are making me mental.”

“More mental you mean.”

“Fine.  More mental.”

“Aren’t there other roads we can take instead?”

“How should I know?” Merlin asked, and sipped at his coffee. “I was just doing what your precious mobile told me.”

“Well why don’t we ask it then,” Arthur said, flashing a smug grin as he lifted his mobile to his mouth. “Tell us how to avoid the motorway.”

For a while Merlin entertained himself by watching Arthur frowning at his screen, poking in obvious irritation at what were clearly not the right answers. 

He was just about to gloat about the inferiority of modern technology to magic when a waitress noticed Arthur’s frustration and paused by their table to show him how to manipulate the device’s direction advice and maps.

“That’s perfect, Jennifer,” Arthur told her when she’d concluded, giving her with one of his broad smiles that had always set the ladies flushing at court.

The young waitress was no different, quite openly flirting in response, shifting her hips and tilting her head so her hair slid over her shoulders. “Anytime.”

It was just like the tavern that first night in London. Only now, he could see what was happening.

Stupid of him, to have been so jealous that night.  He should have known that Arthur wasn’t flirting on purpose.  Or if he was, that there wasn’t any intent behind it. 

He was just Arthur… being Arthur.  Openly bestowing a king’s approval.  Granting attention to his subjects like the gift it was.  And yes, Merlin admitted, perhaps using his well-practiced courtly charms to manoeuvre people into giving him exactly what the royal prat wanted.

“You see, Merlin?” Arthur said, and held up his mobile to show off the squiggly blue line winding through the map.  “I told you it could be done.” 

Merlin’s sarcastic reply died unsaid, as Arthur draped his arm around the back of his chair, hand sliding absently up and down his back.

“Yes, this will do nicely,” Arthur pronounced, and gave the waitress another smile. “Thank you so much for your assistance, Jennifer.”

Merlin watched the woman’s gaze flick between them, and a small resigned smile pull at her lips, before wandering back into the café, another heart broken by Arthur Pendragon. He felt sorry for disappointment.  Well.  A little.

“There’s just one thing,” Arthur went on, oblivious to what had just transpired. “If we take these country roads, it will make our trip five times longer.”

“You don’t sound bothered by that.” 

“I’m not.  Are you?” Arthur asked, apparently in sincere concern.  “Because if you want-“

“No, it’s fine.  It’s good.  Yes, let’s do that.”

“Excellent.”  Arthur shoved himself to his feet as if rising from the Round Table.  “Now come along, Merlin.  Our mighty ship awaits.”

************

The phrase wasn’t an exaggeration, because Merlin counted a dozen lorries pull into the hull of the vessel ahead of him, before Merlin drove his car over the bridge and into the parking garage inside.  Lines of cars were parked on either side of them, a dozen at least, the interior the size of a football field.

Merlin cringed as he peered up and around at the cavern of steel, at artificial lights and artificial ceilings, at layer upon layer of cold metal blocking him from the world beyond. It reminded him of the cave he’d been trapped in, helpless and alone-

A sharp smack startled him from his thoughts. 

“Don’t just sit there like a lump” Arthur said brightly, all excitement and eagerness with jacket already in hand. “Come on!”

Merlin had to hurry to keep up as Arthur strode toward the stairs, happily remarking to anyone who caught his eye over about the wonderful absurdity of a car park inside a boat. Merlin kept silent as he followed Arthur up the wide stairs, smiling to himself at the wonder on his king’s face, especially when they emerged onto the sunlight above.

Most people went immediately to the enclosed above deck lounge, to spend the channel sea crossing protected from the elements.

Arthur was having none of it, already off exploring the ship’s open deck with the sea wind blowing his clothes and the July sun catching his hair like a crown.  Merlin laced his hands behind his back and followed him, vaguely aware that he’d fallen into old habits, of simply doing whatever Arthur did, of being deeply contented doing it.

When Arthur had inspecting everything to his satisfaction, he ended his tour at the back of the ship, along the railing.

Upon the dock, workers were completing efforts to detach the ferry from the massive dock. 

“Now that’s a respectable castle,” Arthur said, nodding to Dover castle upon the hilltop.

“Yours is better,” Merlin noted.

“ _Ours_ is, yes, don’t be stupid.”

The compliment-insult had Merlin’s lips twitching into a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.”

With a lurch of movement and rising hum of engines that had Arthur peering over the railing, and Merlin’s hand twitching to grab him, the ferry began moving from the shore.

“There is no earthly reason we should be floating,” Arthur concluded, once they’d moved well into Dover Harbour.

“Technology,” Merlin said sagely.

“Oh please.  Don’t even try and pretend you have any idea how any of this works.”

“Well neither do you.”

“Well of course I don’t know, Merlin.  I was dead for fifteen centuries.”

Before Merlin could even think of how to respond to that, he watched Arthur glance behind him, at a passing woman and her son.

“Kidding,” Arthur told her pleasantly, then added, “I’m from Wales.”

The woman gave him an odd look, and pulled her son past them both.

Arthur smiled after her, then glanced over rolling his eyes at Merlin, as if sharing some private light-hearted joke.

Merlin could only stare in response, too overwhelmed by it all for the moment, and too captivated by Arthur staring out at the sea, blond hair whipping around his cheeks, mouth pulled up in a delighted grin, as the ferry took them ever farther from the only home they’d ever known. 

After a while, Merlin leaned forward with elbows on the railing, Arthur pressed right up against his side.  Other passengers were walking and chatting around them, ignoring the way Albion grew smaller and smaller as they ventured from shore.

Despite the warmth of the sun, the ocean air grew chilly, and Merlin shuddered, crossing his arms tight to keep warmth within his thin t-shirt.

Arthur noticed, and slid an arm around his back, then left it there, warm and strong and possessive.

It was an obvious and very public gesture that had Merlin tensing, gaze dropping to the water splashing and frothing white in the ship’s wake below. 

“Relax,” Arthur said.

“I am relaxed.”

“Relax more.”

“I am.”

“You’re as tense as a village virgin.  Look, if it helps, I promise I’ll take care of anyone who says anything.  I’ll just… I’ll toss them overboard.  Then you don’t need to worry about turning them into livestock.”

Merlin smiled into the ocean breeze, then finally laughed, imagining Arthur doing exactly what he said.  “You do know you can’t do that anymore,” he said through chuckles, and cast a sideways glance just in time to see Arthur affect a confused expression.

“I don’t understand why not.  I’m king after all-“

“Yeah, of that bit over there,” Merlin said, then wanted to smack himself, for the way that Arthur’s mirth faded away, and his gaze returned, troubled now, back to their home.  “Sorry,” Merlin said into the wind, and pressed closer to Arthur’s side.

“Borders don’t matter, remember?” Arthur said to the sky.  “Not to us.  Not anymore.  They’re all the children of Camelot now.  All under our care.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, and meant it with all his heart.

For a while they stood together, just watching the land they’d called Albion growing smaller upon the horizon. 

“We’ll come back,” Arthur said, as if in answer to an unspoken question, or an oath burned into the heart of the land.

It was true, Merlin could feel it.  Just like he felt the magic flowing along beneath the water, tendrils wound tightly around them both now, no matter where on the earth they travelled.

“Just like the ravens,” Arthur said, watching the sea birds soar above.

“I don’t think those are ravens,” Merlin said curiously.

“I mean your feathered friends at the Tower of London,” Arthur said, and poked his side, making Merlin squirm.  “They didn’t really want to leave the Tower forever.  It was their heritage and their home.  They just wanted the freedom to come and go as they pleased.  To fly where the winds took them.  Just like any man.”

“Or any king.”

“Or any sorcerer.”

Merlin closed his eyes to feel the land of his birth one last time.  The way its ancient magics coursed through hills and plains.  A song in the rivers that coursed like veins of blood of Albion throughout.  The power that had given them both life, and death, and life again now.  The thing he could feel thrumming between him and Arthur, even now. 

Arthur moved to stand behind him arms wrapping his waist, chin coming to rest upon Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin pressed a rough cheek to Arthur’s, covering his arms with his own, opening eyes that sparkled with more than just sunlight.  Magic shone from the land they’d called Albion like a sun, brilliant and beautiful and always, always his home. 

“Tell her for me, will you?” Arthur asked against his ear.

“Tell her?”

“Albion,” Arthur said, reverent and soft. “Tell her that we’ll return.”

“She knows that, sire.   You’re her king, after all.  You’ll always be that, to her.”

“Promise her anyway.”

Merlin turned his head and leaned his forehead against Arthur’s temple, whispering the oath upon the eastern wind.

Arthur tightened his arms and drew in a sharp breath, moisture sliding wet against Merlin’s cheek as the ferry sped to new and distant lands, as in the distance, Albion receded into the seam of the world, where ocean met sky.

Their route into France kept them well off the motorway, travelling down country roads amid lush summer warmed crops and fields. The landscape looked much like Albion yet, with its farmlands and green rolling hills in the distance. Only the French place names and the shift in village architecture told them they were beyond the English Channel. Well, that, and the unfortunate tendency of people here to drive on the wrong side of the road.

For the most part, Merlin drove them in comfortable silence, occasionally commenting on the things sliding by past the window. Arthur mostly grunted his responses, increasingly distracted by his mobile, apparently using his new technology addiction to locate them lodgings for the night.

“Perfect,” Arthur announced for the third time.  “Yes, this is the one.”

“Do you actually mean it this time?” Merlin asked, and shifted in the driver’s seat, arching his sore back.  “My back is killing me after all this driving.”

“I’d be more than happy to take over, as I’ve often pointed out.”

“I’d rather get there in one piece, if that’s all right.”

“I told you, that was the cow’s fault, not mine-”

“Look, a cow, right there,” Merlin said, nodding to a nearby field.  “Is this place of yours at least close, at least?  I only had a sandwich on the ferry, and I’m famished.”

“Your back and your stomach can wait another hour.  I’ve booked a room farther south, in a village near Reims. It’s called L'hôtel des Chevaliers.”

Merlin groaned and thumped his skull against on the headrest.  “You are not, seriously, going to make me drive another whole hour- after the six I already drove!- just to stay at a place because it’s called The Knight’s Hotel-”

“That is not the reason,” Arthur said haughtily.  “It’s merely a pleasant coincidence.  Listen to this.”  He held up his mobile and began to read.  “L'hôtel des Chevaliers is a lovely fourteenth century stone inn, surrounded by peaceful farmland, verdant gardens, and the occasional grazing sheep.  Henri and Charles are exceptional hosts, who provide a gourmet dinner worthy of a king.”

“Henri and Charles?” Merlin glanced over at him, curious.  “Where did you say you found this place?”

“On the internet,” Arthur said evasively, and tilted his mobile so Merlin couldn’t see.

“Fine, don’t tell me.  I don’t care, so long as it has food and a bed.”

***********

What it had, Merlin discovered, was a long stone driveway, an intricate eighteenth century yellow façade, a row of tall white windows lined with blue shutters, and acres of luxurious countryside all around. 

The second Merlin hauled their luggage in the front door, it was swept away by their two French hosts, both of them men in their thirties, and both of them immediately fussing over Arthur, because of his highborn-sounding French.

After they’d deposited their luggage in the bedroom – stylishly minimal with a four poster bed and antique furniture - they were escorted into the dining room, where they sat to dinner with a table full of guests.

For the next several hours Merlin stuffed himself silly on fresh delicious French cuisine, along with a certain amount of wine.  He didn’t speak much, content to just listen and watch, as Arthur spoke about horses with the men from Belgium, and about art with the men from Paris, looking so young and so happy and so breathtakingly beautiful in the flickering candlelight.

He’d only realised he was staring when Arthur caught his gaze and held it, a fond smile pulling at his lips as conversation echoed through the room. 

Without a word, Arthur reached over and squeezed his hand.  Letting it rest there a long moment upon the table, the others either not noticing or not caring.

Arthur made their excuses not long after that, leaving conversation and company behind, closing their bedroom door to near total darkness, save for the dim light spilling through their open window. 

Arthur wasted no time in pulling Merlin into his arms. “There are candles here.  Did you notice?”

“Shall I light them, my lord?” Merlin slurred out, and watched Arthur nod, slow and steady and wanting something Merlin was all too happy to give him.

When he sent the tendril of magic to light the flames, he heard Arthur’s sharply indrawn breath.

“Beautiful,” Arthur whispered, and kissed him in the flickering candlelight, the scent of roses carried on the night-time breeze, the sound of crickets singing soft in the French country night.

********

Merlin woke the next morning with his face squashed into a pillow and Arthur a sweaty naked weight upon his back, once again snoring like a boar.

I wonder if it will bother me someday, Merlin thought sleepily. Having him rattle the windows with his snores. Or sleeping like an octopus all over the bed.

Arthur shifted upon him, nose snuffling against Merlin’s sensitive neck, Arthur’s legs sliding to cradle his thighs, his cock sliding soft and slippery between the curve of his backside.

Then again, possibly not, Merlin thought happily, and sighed happily beneath Arthur’s weight.  

In the absence of Arthur’s snores, Merlin heard birds singing beyond the window, amid the soft calls of the wandering sheep.  The morning breeze was thick with roses; verdant vines and flowers climbed all around their window.

Merlin wondered vaguely if that was his doing.  His magic did tend toward the romantic, much to his constant embarrassment and Arthur’s glee.  It would be just like him to conjure roses for his king.  And of course they’d be in Pendragon red.

He could feel them, the forces of magic in the garden, nurturing and loving and bringing the flowers to life.  With a nudge he eased them back where they should be, a warm wash of magic flowing on through the earth. 

“Come back?” Arthur whispered against his ear. 

Merlin blinked, startling back into his body, the sensation of Arthur’s weight upon him grounding him at once. “Hmm?”

“You went somewhere just now.  Didn’t you.”

Merlin turned his head on the pillow, resting his cheek upon it, peering over his shoulder at Arthur’s profile. “You could tell?”

“You stop breathing, sometimes, when you go away like that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.  I’m not.”

“No?”

“No.  Because it means that I was right.  You can feel your magic easily here.  Much more so than in London.”

Merlin nodded, trying not to shudder at the memory of all that steel and iron carved in the earth.  “Much better here.”

“I told you this was a good choice,” Arthur said, of course taking every opportunity to gloat.

 “Yeah.  A shame we have to leave today.”

“Who says we have to leave?”

“What’s that?”

“We can stay.  Or we can leave.”

“Haven’t you decided?”

“You’re missing the point,” Arthur said, in his ‘you’re being an idiot’ voice.  “It’s your choice.  You’re supposed to decide.”

“Me?”

“The goal of a holiday is to do what both parties want, for as long as they want.”

“Right,” Merlin said.  “So what do you want to do?”

Arthur heaved an enormously put-upon sigh.

“What I mean,” Merlin said quickly, “is that I don’t care what we do.  Just as long as we’re together.”

Silence, for a long while. 

Merlin let it go on, because it was one of Arthur’s very loud silences, which means he was making up his mind.

“You honestly don’t mind my making all the plans?” Arthur asked.

“I’m kind of used to it at this point.”

“If you’re sure…”

Merlin found Arthur’s hand on the bed, and slid their fingers together.  “I’m sure.”

Arthur squeezed his hand.  “All right.”

“All right.”  Merlin wiggled his toes on the bed.  Peered at Arthur over his shoulder.  “What is it you’d like to do today?”

“I have an idea where to start,” Arthur said, low, and pressed his lips to Merlin’s neck.

“You see?  This is why I leave things to you.  Because you- oh, yes, that’s… Right there.  Keep doing that, that, right there…”

************

They wound up staying the next day.  And then two more after that.

They left with reluctance, with new names added to their mobiles, and a list of recommended places to visit as they drove south into France.

They travelled how and when they wanted, sometimes for only an hour before they stopped, curious at some sign along the roadside, or at something Arthur had found online. 

One day they wandered for five hours through a sprawling French garden and adjoining chateau, where an old French lord invited them in for dinner.  The next day they spent entirely at a small village, at the café in the town square, watching people going about their lives. 

In the south of France, they drove through fields filled with purple rows of flowers, the scent so heavenly that when they saw a handwritten wooden sign by the roadside, saying “visite de la ferme”, Arthur decided they should stop and take the farm tour.

The afternoon was spent amid the birds and the warm breezes and the scent of lavender, Arthur walking down the rows with the young couple who ran the place, listening intently as they described the challenges of artisan lavender growers, and how they wanted to keep their family’s legacy alive.

Merlin for the most part didn’t pay attention, ambling behind them with face tipped up to the summer sun, hands held flat to the ground at his sides, feeling drunk by the waves of magic radiating from the land.

“Gods’ sakes, Merlin,” Arthur said in fond exasperation, when Merlin tripped over a root and tumbled to the ground.

Merlin let Arthur help him up and steady him, smiling crookedly at the young farmers who had paused nearby.  “Sorry, I suppose I…“  He trailed off, realizing Arthur was leaving his arm around his back, mirroring how the young couple was standing together.

“Someone’s had too much sun,” Arthur said fondly, in the tone that suggested Merlin should play along.

“Too much sun. Right, definitely.”

“He’s from Wales,” Arthur added, and didn’t even bother hiding his smug smile, as Merlin elbowed him in the ribs.

They returned with their hosts to their cottage, and had a relaxing meal together long into the evening, engaged in easy conversation that both of them were reluctant to end.

They walked back to their car with the sun dipping behind the hills, and Merlin gazing up at the indigo sky, his back warm from Arthur’s arm around it, his head pleasantly fuzzy from the wine, the company, the day… just everything.

This is how my life is now, Merlin thought in utter wonder.   Day after day exactly like this one had been.  Just… laughter and freedom and _Arthur_ …

“I do hope Giraud and Ivette can restore the eastern field,” Arthur said, sounding worried.  “That’s an enormous investment to lose if the crop can’t be saved.”

“When you talk like that, you sound like a farmer.”

“You don’t have to be a farmer to understand agriculture.  If you recall, back in Camelot, it was my responsibility to ensure our people had enough to eat.”

Our people, Merlin thought.  Our kingdom, our lands, our castle.  Arthur never described it any other way.  Not in their new life together, at least.

“You know,” Arthur said, “I used to daydream about being a farmer.”

Merlin tripped over a root and gave Arthur an incredulous look.

“I did.”

“Oh sure you did.”

“A piece of land away from everyone who knew me, with a small stable and a few horses, plus of course a couple cows for milk, chickens for eggs… And of course enough of a garden that-“

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

“Is it so truly difficult to believe?”

“It’s just… You? A farmer?  With dirt?  And shovelling manure?”

“Yes, well, you would handle that, obviously.”

He was serious, Merlin thought.  But that made no sense. Arthur, wanting to be a farmer?  When he was King of Camelot? 

“Is it so hard to believe?” Arthur asked, his voice as tired as if the crown still sat upon his head.  “Despite what you think, being king isn’t a life any sane man would want.  It’s duty, and sacrifice, every moment of your life.”

“I know, but-“

“Stop here a moment.”

When Merlin stopped walking, Arthur moved behind him. “What are you doing?”

Arthur pressed himself against Merlin’s back, arms sliding around his waist. “Just… listen.”

Merlin lifted his gaze beyond the rows of lavender plants to the shadowy hillsides beyond.  Only the leaves whispering in the evening wind, and the birds evening songs to one another, disturbed the peaceful valley. 

“Now,” Arthur said, “tell me what’s on our agenda for tomorrow.”

Merlin smiled, hands sliding along Arthur’s bare forearms.  “I can’t.”

“And why can’t you?”

“Because a certain prat hasn’t told me what it is yet.”

“And do you know why that is?”

“Because you enjoy springing surprises on me?”

“No.  Or, well, yes.  I do.  But that’s not why this time.”

“Then why?”

Arthur brushed his lips to Merlin’s ear, as if about to impart a great secret.  “The reason,” he said simply, “is because I haven’t been in the mood to decide it just yet.”

And really, Merlin thought, that explained quite a lot of things all at once.  Their wayward journey to get here.  The last minute decisions to stop.  He’d thought at the time that Arthur had been trying to antagonise him.  To keep him on his toes, as he once had done.

But apparently was just this:  Just a king, finally free of duty, enjoying the simple fact of being able to choose.

“You honestly don’t miss being king,” Merlin said, amazed.

“I honestly don’t.” 

“Not even a little?”

Arthur hummed and leaned his chin upon Merlin’s shoulder.  “Perhaps never having to wait in queue.  That was rather nice.”

“Arthur…”

“What do you want me to say, Merlin?  That I miss the battles and the bloodshed, and sending young men out to die?  That I miss fearing for my kingdom every day, and fearing for my friends and loved ones every night?  Do you miss those things?”

Merlin thought of the fields of Camlann.  Of the invaders pouring over Albion’s borders.  “No,” he said softly.  “I don’t.”

“Perhaps it is the newness of it all,” Arthur said, sounding tired.  “Maybe it will wear off.  But honest?  I don’t give a damn.  Because what I feel, most of all, is happy.  Just having an ordinary life.  Or as ordinary as if can be, with you in it.”

Merlin huffed a soft laugh, and shook his head up at the sunset.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shifted to look into Arthur’s eyes, seeing a carefree happiness there he’d never seen in Camelot. “Just… You.  After all this time.  Still managing to surprise me.”

“Still haven’t fathomed me out, then?”

 “Wouldn’t dream of it, sire,” Merlin said.

******************

Halfway to their car, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm, pulling him off the driveway and into the field.  Merlin followed without question, wondering at Arthur’s intention, until he saw the blighted eastern fields, with its wide dirt rows between spindly lavender plants.

A massive walnut tree stood at its centre, easily a hundred years old. As Arthur moved along its perimeter to inspect the plants, Merlin ducked into the shadowy darkness beneath the tree’s thick branches, the ground soft with moss beneath his trainers. “Well here’s your problem,” he called over to Arthur.

“What is it?”

“It’s the tree.” Merlin pointed up at the branches once Arthur moved to his side. “The oils from the walnuts have poisoned the soil.  If they heavily amend the soil this year, and set up a net to catch the walnuts from now on, it should set things to rights.”

“So there’s no hope for the plants this year?”

“Afraid not.”

“Not even if you…”  Arthur wiggled his fingers at the ground.

Merlin arched an eyebrow. “What happened to not drawing attention to myself?”

“The London Eye happened,” Arthur said, and sat himself down on the ground.  “And then the hotel pond, and the ravens, and-“

“All right, all right.”  Merlin walked over to where Arthur was stretching out upon the moss, arms folded beneath his head.  “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable for the show.”  Arthur patted the ground beside him.  “Come on, Court Sorcerer.  Let’s see some magic.”

“I can see now how you would have been,” Merlin said, and knelt at Arthur’s side.  “Pushing me around even with my magic.  Merlin do this, Merlin do that-“

“Merlin shut up.”

“See?  It’s always-”

“Just come here,” Arthur said, and with in one graceful movement, surged up, grabbed Merlin by the waist, and pinned him to the ground. 

“Bully,” Merlin said, breathless, as he stared up at his king.

“Insolence,” Arthur told him, and silenced the rest of his words with a kiss.

Arthur made love to him right there, on a bed of moss beneath the verdant tree, the night slowly folding them in its blanket, their moans carried into the wind.

Magic thrummed through Merlin’s body as Arthur worked magic of his own, the rhythmic rocking of his hips like the ocean waves crashing and retreating from the shore. It was all Merlin could do to hang onto his shoulders, mouth pressed against Arthur’s pulse, anchored to his king as pleasure swept him into the forces of the earth, only to be drawn back to Arthur once again.

“My love,” Arthur would murmur, and press deep as the magic within. “My love…”

“My king,” Merlin choked out, and arched upon the soft cradle of the earth, magic and eternity flowing out from within him, to dance joyful and free upon the land.

********

“You really do love flowers, don’t you,” Arthur said, the next morning.

“Oh shut up,” Merlin grumbled, glaring out at the verdant sea of violet now covering the field.  His magic hadn’t even left any dirt rows to walk in.  It was humiliating, is what it was.  And it was taking forever to get back to the damned car, too. 

“I mean, you really, really love flowers-“

“Yes, yes, fine,” Merlin said, swatting away a cloud of blue butterflies, relieved that Arthur hadn’t spotted them yet.

“Giraud and Ivette are going to have the shock of their lives when they see all this.  We’d best be out of here as quickly as we can.”

“After we stop back by their house for breakfast.  I’m starving.”

“We are absolutely not going back to their house.  They can easily see this field from their kitchen window.  Once they-  Did you make those butterflies too?”

 “No,” Merlin ground out.

“Flowers and butterflies both,” Arthur said, immensely smug.  “Well.  Someone was apparently quite satisfied by my performance last night.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“True.  You weren’t entirely awful.”

“You were very complimentary, in fact.  What was it you said?  Oh yes, I remember…” Merlin pitched his voice into a mockery of Arthur’s own.  “ ‘Oh yes, Merlin, you are perfection, Merlin, I demand that you fuck me this very minute, Mer-“

With a yelp Merlin went sprawling face first into the lavender.

“Clumsy as always,” Arthur said innocently, as if he hadn’t just intentionally tripped him.  “You really should watch where you’re going.  All these lovely girly flowers you created are-“

A shout echoed across the valley as Arthur fell face first into the plants.

“Careful, sire,” Merlin said happily, as he got to his feet, brushing dirt from his jeans. “There’s all sorts of unexpected things to trip on around here.”

Arthur rolled onto his side and started pulling at the vines around his ankles.  “You would know, wouldn’t you!”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“The hell…” Arthur grumbled, because each vine he snapped had another taking its place.

Merlin wandered over to enjoy the show. “Such strange behaviour from wild strawberry,” he said curiously.  “They’re not normally so aggressive.  Well.  Unless provoked.”

Arthur glared up at him, blue eyes narrowed.

“I’ll just wait for you in the car then?”

“Get these damn things off me!” Arthur shouted at his back.

“I’m sure you’ll manage it sire!”

Merlin counted out five steps before he heard a long string of Brittonic swears, a violent snapping of vines, and the rapid pounding of footfalls behind him.  Without looking back, he took off at a loping run, his laughter echoing through the valley, his king hard upon his heels.

******************

Their days kept on like that, as they navigated towards Italy, the countryside yielding to low mountains, the roads twisting through deep valleys.

In the mornings, in whatever bed and breakfast they’d found, Arthur took up the habit of breakfasting with the other guests.  Invariably, he wound up as the centre of attention.  Young men and old women and children alike were drawn to him, as they’d always been drawn to him, with his welcoming smile, and his ready laugh, and his fiery spirit.  More than once Merlin walked into the breakfast room to find Arthur very much holding court, listening to the travel advice of others, all eyes turned to him, like the flowers to the sun. 

Not once did any of them call Arthur ‘my lord’. 

But it was there, somehow, just the same.

More often than not, though, people treated Arthur like anyone else, which Merlin still found off-putting.  Arthur seemed not to notice or to mind, cleaning up his own breakfast plates without complaint when he saw others doing it.  More than once he’d taken Merlin’s plate for cleaning too, leaving Merlin staring after him feeling dazed, thrown off balance by the new dynamic between them. 

At the gasthof where they’d stopped today, in a green alpine valley overlooking an ice blue glacier lake, Arthur had even helped tend to the horses.  Admittedly, Merlin had done most of the shovelling, while Arthur stood gazing into the valley, looking so regal and eternal and at one with the land that Merlin would just stand and stare, chest tight and smiling vapidly, lost in astonishment that this, now, was his life.

They were somewhere in France, or possibly Switzerland, or maybe even Italy, come to think of it.  The borders made no difference though, not with magic so constant all around him now.  He could feel it singing from the mountains, and resounding in the valleys.

As Arthur had taken him that night, he’d felt drunk with the magic of this place, so rich and ancient and vibrating with life.  Arthur had felt it as well, judging by how long they’d been at each other, before climax dragged them under, leaving them exhausted and panting in a heap on the bed.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed into his shoulder, equal parts astonishment and reproach.

Merlin couldn’t even manage a reply, too dazed laying there staring at the ceiling, Arthur Pendragon collapsed upon him, magic sliding around him, muscles limp from what they’d just done.

“That was…” Arthur began. 

“Mmm.”

“Was just…”

“Wasn’t it, though.”

A choked out laugh and Arthur nosed at Merlin’s neck. “Impossible man.”

Merlin tightened his arms around Arthur’s back, shivering from the night chill.  In answered to his unvoiced desire, magic swirled around him, lifting the blanket from the floor and gently settling it over them.

“Lazy,” Arthur sighed, sounding entirely pleased about it.

From the next room, the sound of groaning. Two male voices, lost in rapture.

And then, from the room on the other side, more of the same.

Arthur lifted his head, his curiosity obvious, though his face was shadowy in the moonlight.  “Something in the air tonight?”

Merlin shifted his focus, feeling magic thrumming all around him, thick with love and heavy with desire, rippling like water out from around them, echoing back from the contented earth. 

“Something you’d like to tell me?”

Merlin peeked open one eye. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Another moan sounded, followed by the slow rhythmic squeaking of a mattress.

“They don’t sound unhappy about it,” Merlin pointed out.

Arthur shifted to lay at his side, propped up on one elbow, gazing curiously from one wall to another. “Why is it happening?”

“Bit of magic overflow, maybe.”  Merlin closed his eyes, smiling drunkenly as the sensations flooded in, warming him from the inside as though he’d had too much wine. “I can feel it everywhere tonight.  Singing to me.”

A long silence.  And then Arthur’s soft voice.  “That’s a good description.  Singing.”

“You can feel it too?”

“Sometimes.  Usually when we…”  Arthur slid his palm down Merlin’s abdomen.  Brushed his fingers along the line of hair.

“Mmm,” Merlin sighed.  “Yes.  Me too.”

“Like that night in Avalon.”

“The dining table?”

“Yes.  The dining table.”

Another, longer moan echoed from their right, followed by the complaint of bedsprings.

“Is that Piotr and Christof’s room?” Merlin asked.

“I believe so.” 

“And that’s Klaus and Erik, over the other side.”

“Having a wonderful time, from the sounds of it.”

The mischief in Arthur’s eyes reminded Merlin of feathery hats and official uniforms of the servants of Camelot and a long list of other things his king had put over on him. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Merlin pressed.  “How there are so many male couples here?”

“Is it?”

“Even the owners have all been men, now that I think about it.  Also in relationships.”

“How interesting.”

Merlin slapped at Arthur’s chest. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Arthur finally grinned, looking delighted with himself. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to finally notice.  I didn’t think it would take this long.”

“So it was on purpose?” Merlin asked, then choked out a laugh at Arthur’s proud nod.  “All these places we’ve been staying… All this time… You’ve been taking us on a gay holiday!”

Arthur screwed up his nose, brows twitching together as they often did when Merlin’s translation spell poorly reframed modern notions in old ways. 

“That’s not what this is,” Arthur said, sounding indignant.  “With men engaging in… in… shirtless dancing and… and public debauchery on the beach.”

“That isn’t really what ‘gay holiday’ means.”

“It doesn’t matter.  And we’re not- I’m not-“  Arthur looked confused briefly, then frowned.  “These modern labels are ridiculous, all of them.  They’re simply too small for the likes of us.”

“Because you’re the Once and Future King?”

“And because you’re a fifteen hundred year old sorcerer,” Arthur said, nodding firmly.  “We’re both of us beyond all that.  We always will be.”

Merlin lifted a gentle hand to slide his fingers along Arthur’s strong jaw, wondering at the astonishing resilience of his king.  “You really are amazing, you know?”

Arthur gave him a delighted smile.  “I do.”

Next door came the sound of a long string of filthy German swears.  As if in answer, the bedsprings started squeaking even louder and faster on the other side.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Arthur asked.  “That I’ve been choosing places like this?”

“You mean places that sound like a brothel?”

“You know what I mean.”

Merlin paused with his fingers upon Arthur’s cheeks, surprised by the uncertainty in Arthur’s gaze. “You’re really worried?”

Arthur took hold of his hand. Pressed a kiss to his palm.  “I just want you to be able to relax.  Enjoy yourself.  Without worrying about turning people into livestock.”

Merlin fought back unexpected tears, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of what Arthur had done for him.   “I don’t mind it,” he whispered. 

“Good.” Arthur kissed Merlin’s palm. “I’m glad.”

“And Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“It’s actually sort of sweet.”

Arthur dropped Merlin’s hand to his chest.  “Ugh, now you’re ruining it.”

From the room next door came lengthy swearing in German, amid a flurry of squeaks, and then groans that faded into silence.

“That was rather fast,” Arthur said, conveniently forgetting the many times he and Merlin had barely got their trousers off before coming messily all over each other. 

“Nothing wrong with fast, every once in a while.”

“You would say that.  You have no patience whatsoever.”  Arthur gave him a wicked grin.  “Perhaps you need another lesson?  We could show them how it’s properly done.”

Merlin pushed at his chest, laughing.  “Oh right.  Like you even could.”

With a sweep of his arm, Arthur shoved the blankets away, and swung a leg over Merlin’s hips, straddling his thighs.  “Is that a challenge?”

“I don’t see you rising to the occasion,” Merlin said, glancing down at Arthur’s hips.  “Though to be honest, I’m not sure I can.  Again.  Not without a breather.”

Arthur leaned forward, pressing his hands to Merlin’s pillow, next to his ears.  “Perhaps,” he whispered against Merlin’s lips, “you could convince your magic to stop sharing its song with other people, and give it to me, instead.”

Merlin could only stare, because here was Arthur- who had been terrified of magic, who had been raised to hate it, who had hated him for a while- who was now asking him to bring magic into the intimate space of their bodies, their bed.

Merlin pressed his hands to Arthur’s cheeks.  Fingertips sliding over rough stubble.  Memorizing the moment as best he can, as he stared in helpless wonder at Arthur’s curious expression.

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

“I just… I love you so damned much…”

Arthur smiled as if given the highest praise, then bent and kissed his lips. “Like magic and the earth,” he whispered.

“What?”

“That’s the way that I love you.  Like the earth loves its magic.  Always wanting to be filled with its song.  The same way I want to feel you.  Deep inside.  In all ways.”

“God, Arthur…”

“Let me feel it,” Arthur said, between soft kisses.  “Let me feel you…”

Merlin shuddered as Arthur claimed his mouth, lips parting for the slide of his tongue, embracing him with everything that he was made of, body and spirit and magic as well.

************

Time stretched itself out as they travelled, day by day, not by magic but by joy, each day filling out to fit the wonderful memories that Merlin found pouring into them.

He’d begun writing again, using a blank notebook Arthur had found in a village tucked away high in the Alps.  The cover was a photo of butterflies. 

Arthur had bought it mostly as a joke.  But Merlin loved it just the same.

He filled up twenty pages the first day, writing in Brittonic when they stopped in a village north of the Alps for dinner.  Arthur was standing by the bar, holding court with a crowd of locals, who were listening with rapt attention.

‘ _It’s like this everywhere we go_ ,’ Merlin wrote.  ‘ _People are drawn to him. As if they know that he still stands ready to protect him, no matter what modern borders we cross or what language we speak.  As if they know he is their king_.’

He tapped his pencil on the wooden table, watching Arthur in conversation, marvelling at how easily he fit in.  Even though the translation spell that allowed them to speak the local languages certainly helped, Merlin suspected Arthur would find his way even if he had to point and grunt.  People just were drawn to him.  Adored him, wherever they went. 

And though these weren’t the people of Camelot -- though perhaps they were their children, after so many generations -- Merlin knew Arthur loved them as well.  He had accepted the entire world as his kingdom after his return. No wonder, then, that he reached out to the local people.  Always asking, always learning.

Never once had he complained that he wasn’t treated as nobility.  Not to anyone who wasn’t Merlin, anyway. 

When Arthur joined him at the table with their drinks, he shoved his chair right up against Merlin’s side.  Though Merlin hadn’t known it was possible, Arthur had become even more demonstrative as they travelled.  Not only like he used to, with a hand to his shoulder or taking hold of his arm.  But really being demonstrative.  An arm around his back.  A hand covering his own.  Or fingers slipping into his hair when he slung his arm around the back of Merlin’s chair, just as he was doing now. 

Merlin sat back in his chair sipping his beer, tilting his head into the touch, leg pressing along the side of Arthur’s, enjoying the heat of his body.

“They have a wild boar problem in these parts,” Arthur said after a while.

“Is that so?”

“Been bringing in people to deal with it.  Doing a poor job of it though.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It is.  Because it’s not that difficult, really.  It’s not like it’s a magic boar.  Anyone with any skill at all could show them how.”

“I wish them luck then.”

“There’s even a hunt tomorrow.”

Merlin picked up his beer and sipped at it, just waiting for-

“It’s only a few hours, right after dawn.”

Merlin thumped his glass to the table.  “We are not going hunting wild boar at the crack of morning!”

“Of course we aren’t, why would you possibly suggest such a thing,” Arthur said, grinning in obvious delight at getting one over on him.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “As if you could get your lazy arse out of bed that early anymore.”

“Don’t be insulting, of course I could.  And I will.  When I feel like it.”  Arthur sipped his beer, still entirely too pleased with himself.  “So how is the newest Book of Avalon coming along?”

“It’s not a Book of Avalon.  It’s just my thoughts.”

“A book of _Merlin_ , then,” Arthur teased.

Merlin nudged him, smiling.  Truth was, he had no intention of ever sharing this book.  It was his, and Arthur’s, for them to look back on, centuries from now.  That’s why he was including every detail.  Even if they didn’t seem to matter now.

The way Arthur swore at his mobile. The afternoons aimlessly wandering some village, no real destination in mind, enjoying getting lost time to time.  Even the way Arthur still acted like a royal prat sometimes, or Merlin was guilty of being a stubborn arse, especially after long hours in the car, hungry and irritable and slightly stir crazy.

He’d even written about the filthy things Arthur was learning on the internet.  About how Arthur would show Merlin his mobile, some indecent thing shown in lurid detail, still too embarrassed to say it out loud.  Or the way Arthur shook off all his reservations in bed, rejecting modern stigmas and stereotypes as well, apparently wanting to sample every sexual pleasure he could.

“You spelled abonā wrong,” Arthur pointed out, picking up Merlin’s pencil to cross off the Brittonic word and rewrite it.

“Since when did we care about spelling?” Merlin asked, and grabbed for the pencil.

“Just because the peasantry didn’t have spelling-  And it wasn’t a river, it was a stream, honestly, try and tell the story right.”

“Why don’t you finish writing what happened then?”

“The king doesn’t write the adventures, the king has the adventures, and his scribe writes them down,” Arthur said imperiously, reclining in his chair. 

“I’m not a scribe.”

“Tell that to your friends at the museum.  How are they doing by the way?”

“I have no idea.  I told Eleanor to deal with them the day we reached France.  I’m sure she’s keeping them busy.”

Arthur’s laughter rang over the conversation of the room.  “Oh I’m sure she is.”

Merlin had only written two more sentences when he felt Arthur press against him, an arm draped over his back, hand slid up through his hair, fingertips playing with the strands.  “You’re making it difficult to concentrate,” he said as he wrote.

“Am I?” Arthur asked, resting his chin upon Merlin’s shoulder to watch him write, utterly unconcerned with the few dozen people in the place.

With each passing day Arthur had become even more demonstrative, touching him at the smallest provocation.  He slung an arm around Merlin’s chair at restaurants, pressed a hand to his back when they stopped to look at a view, played with his hair while Merlin drove them through the countryside.

There had been comments, too low to hear, and sideways looks as well, occasionally.  So far, Merlin had been ignoring them.  He’d even begun not to care.  What could the world do to the Once and Future King after all?  Especially with the Child of Magic at his side?

*******

The answer came, unexpected and unwelcome, a few hours later.

They’d left their new friends at the restaurant, the owner locking up behind them with a cheerful wish to come back for breakfast, something Merlin doubted the other half dozen people could hear, already staggering back to their homes down the cobblestone street.

He and Arthur clung to each other as they walked, Arthur casting predatory looks at him, even more gorgeous and irresistible in the dim streetlights than he normally was.

Merlin felt himself smiling, drunk on beer and on love, as he pulled Arthur into a narrow alleyway off of the cobblestone street.  With a groan he pushed Arthur up against the cool stone wall, falling upon him with mouth and body, Arthur immediately doing the same.

They got so lost in one another that they didn’t hear the three men who’d followed them. 

Searing pain announced their presence, crashing down on Merlin’s back, driving him to the cobblestones.

By the time Merlin looked up, Arthur was already in motion, cracking arms and shattering noses, silently dispatching each attacker, swift and efficient as a blade.  

When the last man had fallen, and lay moaning with the others, Arthur loomed over them, ferocious and horrifying, a king standing amid barbarians, victorious upon the field of battle. 

“ _Run_ ,” Arthur growled at them, teeth bared and shoulders heaving, blood shining on his knuckles.  “ _Now_!”

As the men scrambled away, Arthur turned back to Merlin.  “Are you all right?”

Before Merlin could speak, a final insult echoed down the alley, filthy and hate-filled and making Arthur stiffen with a fury Merlin hadn’t seen in a millennium.

With a growl Arthur spun in place and started after him.

“Eoforswín!” Merlin shouted.

A yelp from down the alley, followed by the squelching of flesh, and the cracking of bone.

Arthur staggered to a stop, staring.

Down the alley, a small hooved creature climbed out of a pile of clothing, tripped over its fat pink legs, and fell.

As it oinked its distress, Arthur turned back to Merlin, mouth hanging open and eyes rounded.

“What?” Merlin demanded. “I told you I’d do it, didn’t I?”

Down the alley, a squeal and more frantic oinking.

Arthur glanced furiously at the distressed animal, and then back at Merlin. “I was going to handle him!”

“Yeah, well, _I’m_ the one who got hit.”

Arthur’s anger vanished, replaced by frantic worry.  “Are you hurt?” he asked, moving to kneel at Merlin’s side, pawing at his body to seek out injury, as he’d done so very long ago.

Merlin finally caught Arthur’s hands, summoning his magic to mend torn skin and heal bruised bone.  “It’s all right now.  I’ve taken care of it.”

A high pitched squeal down the alleyway them both turning to watch the small pig try to stand, give a pained squeal, then fall over.

“What’s wrong with its- his- hoof?”

“You broke his wrist, remember?”

“Yes.  I remember.”

It sounded very much like Arthur wished he’d done more.  Merlin tried and failed not to be pleased at that thought.

Arthur turned his back on the pathetic creature.  “You’re certain you’re all right?”

“I could use a hand up, maybe?”

“Of course.  Yes.  I’m sorry.” Arthur slid an arm around Merlin’s back, easing him to his feet.  “Careful…”

Merlin stood up and stretched his back, still aching from the blow.  The reality of what just occurred was finally sinking in.  He could feel a sick feeling in his stomach, as the adrenaline wore off.

“He’s the one who hit you, isn’t he,” Arthur said darkly, nothing but blood and battlefields in his tone.

“Pretty sure, yes.”

“We should leave him that way,” Arthur said, glaring at the small creature. “Make him live in his own filth and be treated like the animal he is.”

Merlin felt his breath catch at Arthur’s protective behaviour, his reaction to it as strong as ever it had been.  But it wasn’t right, him encouraging this behaviour.  He’d seen it in Arthur before.  And it wasn’t worthy of his king.

“Is that really what you want to do, sire?” Merlin asked, placing careful emphasis on the title.

The fight went out of Arthur at once, his shoulders rounding on a sigh.  “No. Turn him back into the coward he is.  Then send him away.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Without,” Arthur added, “the benefit of his clothes.  Or healing his injury.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said, unable to hold back his own pleasure, nudging at the magic around him, to transform the creature back into the thug.

After he’d ran screaming from the alleyway, his shouts echoing through the village, Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms.

“Take me back to the hotel?” Merlin whispered.

“All right.  Yes.” 

Arthur was too troubled and too silent, the entire way back to the hotel, his arm painfully tight around Merlin’s shoulders, his expression stormy in the dark.

Later, as they lay naked together, Arthur propped himself upon an elbow, watching his hand as it dragged through the hairs upon Merlin’s chest, reverent and tender as if he were going to disappear at any moment.

“I should have listened to you,” Arthur said.  “You warned me this could happen.  But I didn’t listen to you.  _Again_.”

Merlin picked up Arthur’s hand from his chest.  “This time, I’m glad you didn’t. Because I was wrong, and you were right.”

“But you saw what happened-“

“Yes, as a result of me being me, and you being you.  Understand?”

“Not even a little.  Why don’t you go back to the part where you were wrong and start from there?”

Merlin squeezed his hand, but was glad for the teasing, because it was the first time Arthur had smiled since the alley.  “What I mean is that we shouldn’t hide that part of ourselves.  You told me before, remember?  I should always be me?  Well that means you should always be you.  And this…”  Merlin pressed his hand to Arthur’s knuckles.  “This is a part of who we are.”

Arthur studied him, silent and still, for a long moment.  Then he leaned over Merlin’s chest, body warm and familiar all along him, to press a kiss to Merlin’s lips.  “Still wiser than me, after all these years,” he said.

“I’ve had more practice than you, remember.”

“That is a rather unfair advantage.”

“Yes, well, there you go.”

After some fussing with the covers, and rearranging themselves on the bed, Arthur reclined back on the pillows, Merlin comfortably tucked against his side, cheek pressed to Arthur’s chest.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt,” Arthur said, still sounding too worried, to guilt ridden.

“I’m all right.”

“If he’d hurt you-“

“He didn’t.”

“I would have killed him.  I swear it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.  You’re better than that.  You’re my king.”

“What is the life of a king,” Arthur asked softly, “compared to that of a man born of magic?”

Merlin swallowed against a swell of emotion. “Well,” he said, his voice rough, “a good king is hard to find.”

“I’m not that good,” Arthur told him, sounding far too much as though he meant it.

“You’re a better man than I am, Arthur.”

Arthur looked out the window, shaking his head.

Merlin protested the only way he could think of. By pressing his nose to Arthur’s chest, and making an oinking sound.

Silence, at first.

But then a choked out laugh.

Merlin smiled, and oinked at him again.

“Merlin-”

Merlin oinked as questioningly as he could.

Arthur finally did laugh, the sound vibrating into Merlin’s lips.  “Ridiculous man-“

Merlin oinked his indignation at that, nose snuffling against Arthur’s chest and neck and cheek, until Arthur had collapsed back upon the bed, breathless and shaking with laughter, tears of humour streaming down his face, Merlin giggling himself senseless right along with him.

***********

By the time they eventually did reach Tuscany, July had melted into August.

They’d left the harsh mountains behind, country roads now lined with cypress, vineyard covered hills rolling out in all directions, beneath the warm summer sun.

“How much longer is it?” Merlin asked one afternoon, as he was driving them both towards Arthur’s next mysterious destination.  

“You’ll see.”

Merlin looked over at Arthur sitting in the passenger’s seat, in his red t-shirt and jeans, his mobile held in his hand, looking for all the world as if he’d been born into this century, instead of a time of legend.

“Just a little while down the road,” Arthur added.

Merlin rolled his eyes.  “If I had a gold coin for every time you said that...”

“You already have all of my gold coins.”

“I do not.  You have all your gold coins.  In the manor vaults in Avalon.  On account of how I didn’t spend them.”

“That’s right, you just sold all of the castle’s gold furnishings.  I do remember now.”

“It was only a few candlesticks! I cannot believe you-!“

Next to him, Arthur was laughing.

“Hysterical,” Merlin muttered.

“The look on your face, honestly….”

Merlin jerked the wheel sharply, knocking Arthur against the door.  “Oops!” he said cheerily.  “Thought I saw a rabbit.”

Arthur gave him a suspicious look, then tapped the screen of his mobile. “Now look at what you made me do.  I selected the wrong link, and now I’m in Apple Maps instead of Google Maps.”

“What’s wrong with Apple Maps?”

“Google maps is far superior, everyone knows that.  Honestly, Merlin, it’s like you’ve never been on the internet at all.”

Merlin didn’t answer, not sure if he was joking or not, because Arthur actually had got rather terrifyingly good with technology.  The internet was no match for the Once and Future King, especially not with his ever-increasing contact list of friends he could ask about it.

“Where are we anyway?” Merlin asked.

The quirk of Arthur’s lips was irritatingly smug.  “We’re in the Province of Siena, Italy.  Our villa, La Villa del Drago, is in the heart of Tuscany.”

Merlin tried to ignore the effect that Arthur speaking Italian had on him.  Stupid spell, he thought.  Always turning Arthur’s accent posh no matter the language.  It was entirely unfair in Italian.  “ _Please_ tell me that you didn’t pick this place because it’s called The Dragon’s Villa?”

“A happy coincidence,” Arthur went on, giving him an evasive sidelong glance. “Prior to traveling there, we’ll be stopping at Monterriggioni, a walled medieval hilltop town.  The fortifications look fascinating, and we should be able to occupy ourselves there until… things are ready for us.”

“Things? What things?“

“There are several high quality eating establishments in Monterriggioni as well.”

“Are you not going to answer me?”

“And after that, we’ll be on our way.”

“That’s a no, then.”

“Very good, Merlin, you’re finally starting to learn.”

“How to deal with a royal prat you mean?  I knew how to do that fifteen hundred years ago.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you,” Arthur said wistfully, and surprised Merlin by stretching his arm across the seat back to slide a hand through his hair.  “Now pay attention your driving.  It’s just a little-“

“A little further down the road, I know, I know,” Merlin said, but he couldn’t manage to sound irritated at all, not with his king running his royal fingers through his hair.

*********

Arthur wanted to explore the battlements, so they started their day in Monterriggioni by climbing the stair up to the thick wall encircling the town.  The view from atop it was beautiful, nothing but green hillsides and lush vineyards stretching out in all directions.

“It’s impossible to take a bad photo in this country,” Merlin said, as he studied the photo he’d taken of the two of them atop the ramparts, the Italian countryside behind them.

Arthur hummed absently and stepped forward, looking down at the protected piazza within the city centre.  Vendor stalls had been set up within it, and several food stalls as well.  A band was performing upon the steps of the cathedral, their soft music echoing upon stone, carrying up to them on the summer wind.

“Old and new, side by side,” Arthur murmured.

Merlin tucked his mobile away and moved to Arthur’s side. “What’s that?”

“It’s something I thought before.  At the Tower.”

Merlin had very carefully not been mentioning that day.  He hesitated to discuss it now. 

“It’s different here, though,” Arthur went on. “In London, the Tower is just a relic.  A tourist destination.  This place is still full of life.  Still able to serve a purpose.  A town square for the market and meet.  Houses where people can live.  The past and the future flowing into the other.  Moving into the future, together.”

Merlin looked at his ancient king in modern t-shirt and jeans, mobile held loose in the hand that had once held a sword. 

“Sound familiar?” Arthur asked, sounding playful.

Merlin found himself grinning.  “Nah.”

Arthur laughed, and lead him back down to the town, in pursuit of nothing in particular, save perhaps the delicious smells filling the square.

They stayed until it was dark, making driving a challenge. More than once Merlin looked ahead with his magic, concerned about animals on the winding country roads.

The last vestiges of light had nearly faded when Arthur told him to turn onto a long stone driveway, set in the dark shadow of a valley between two hills.  Rows of grapevines were set upon the slopes, extending into the darkness above.  

Ahead, was a rather modest yellow stone villa, beautiful with its many tall arching windows and hanging flowerpots.   After he parked, he began to get out, but Arthur caught his arm.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Did you take us to the wrong place?” Merlin asked, as Arthur got out of the car.

“Just wait right there!”

“Bossy prat,” Merlin mumbled, squirming in his seat to stretch his aching back.

The front door of the villa was opened by a short round older woman, who pulled Arthur inside and closed the door. 

“Oh, sure, don’t mind me, I’ll just haul in all the luggage by myself, then, shall I?” Merlin muttered, and had a foot out the open car door when he saw Arthur emerge, a handful of papers and a key shining in the porch light.

“What did I tell you to do?” Arthur asked as he climbed back in.

“I was waiting,” Merlin lied.

“The simplest of instructions, honestly, Merlin.  Now if you can manage it, drive us toward that gravel drive right there, the one that leads past the villa.”

“What do you have there?” Merlin asked, and peered over at the papers in Arthur’s lap.

“The simplest instructions,” Arthur said through a sigh, and reached over to turn the key in the ignition.

The Bentley’s headlights lit their way, their tires crunching on the dark gravel road.  Beyond open windows Merlin saw vineyards, bathed in moonlight and indigo shadows, their grapes sweet and thick in the air of the car.

 “Up there, that’s right,” Arthur said, shifting in his seat, clearly excited about wherever they were going.

“Are you sure?” Merlin asked, because they were angling upward around the curve of a hillside, Cypress trees lining the path, like statues guiding their way.

“Very sure.  Just a little further now… There.  Just atop the hill.”

Merlin eased them up onto what became a driveway leading to a small home.  Olive trees sheltered the small single story, as welcoming as the stucco and the broad windows, sheer curtains blowing over flowerboxes, golden light spilling out into the night from within.

“Is this an inn?” Merlin asked.  “It looks like someone’s house.”

“It is a house.  Our house.  Well.  At least for our stay.  Now come on.  Get out.”

Merlin watched Arthur hop out of the car and slam the door behind him, then jog in front of the headlights to pull open the driver’s door.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Arthur this excited.  Or even if he’d ever seen him this excited at all.

“Get out, get out,” Arthur said, pulling at his arm.

Merlin shut off the car and swatted at Arthur’s hands. “Leave off- What’s got _into_ you?”

“A slowpoke sorcerer is what,” Arthur said, and hauled him to his feet.  “Come over here now.”

Merlin laughed as Arthur guided him through the moonlight-soft shadows, over plush verdant lawns, to a spot free of branches where they could see the landscape.

Vineyards blanketed the hills, shadowy rows of grapes climbing up and down, beneath a night sky made beautiful by slender clouds and an August moon.

Arthur pressed himself to Merlin’s back, arms tight around his waist, to speak, low and breathless, into his ear. “What do you think?”

“It’s… so quiet,” Merlin found himself saying, which wasn’t what he’d intended.  Anyone else would have said beautiful.  Because it was.  Definitely it was that.

But the silence…

Just the faint whisper of a breeze through the leaves above.  Just the distant songs of night insects.  And Arthur’s breaths in his ear, strangely loud in this place.

No cars.  No distant train calls.  No machinery anywhere.  Nothing but peace.

“Do you like it?” Arthur whispered.

“I love it,” Merlin said.

“Good,” Arthur said, sounding shockingly relieved.  “That’s…”  He heaved a sigh, resting his chin upon Merlin’s shoulder.  “I thought you would.”

He really was nervous, Merlin thought.  Which meant he’d put a lot of thought into this.  Into picking it for him. 

“It’s-“  Merlin cleared his throat.  Blinked back moisture to look at the beautiful countryside.  “It’s perfect, Arthur.  Just perfect.”

“There’s nothing around for miles, except for the villa we passed, and only the family who owns these lands lives there,” Arthur said in a rush, as if he’d been only barely holding back these details.  “They grow grapes, mostly, and used to grow olives, but the only olive trees they have now are right here. This house used to be the workers’ home.  But then the vines in this area got too old and stopped producing in such quantities. They harvest it, though, because the wine tastes all the better from older plants.”

“That’s a lot of information,” Merlin said through soft laughter, and slid his hands over Arthur’s warm forearms arms, hair tickling his fingertips. “Since when do you know about growing grapes?”

“The internet,” Arthur said, as if it this were sufficient explanation for him wanting to learn such a thing.

Merlin leaned back against Arthur’s chest.  The Italian country night stretched out before him.  Arthur’s heart beating against his back. 

Perfect, he thought.  God, it’s perfect…

“How long are we staying?” Merlin asked into the silence.

“We have the whole week.  But it’s available longer than that. The house needs some tending, actually.  They were going to block it off for repairs.  But I’ve told them we could take care of it instead.”

“And by we you mean me.”

“Your magic, yes.  There’s to be no actual working while we’re here.”

Merlin tilted his head, nosing against Arthur’s cheek.  “Is that my king’s command?”

“The first of many,” Arthur told him, and brushed his lips against the corner of Merlin’s mouth.  “Now let’s get our bags.  I want to show you the inside.

After lugging their things to the front porch, Arthur let them in the arched wooden door, pushing it open to a modest living space, potted plants and paintings of the countryside setting a cozy feel with the well used furniture and mismatched lamps, each room’s rounded arches letting the warm night air flow from room to room.

The only hint of any renovations were in the washroom, which had a marble Jacuzzi bath with skylights above it.  The bedroom had new Spanish tile as well, with an enormous four poster bed bearing sheer curtains in the middle of the stucco room. 

Merlin walked past it to slide open the glass doors, peeking out at the stone patio, two chairs set upon it to overlook the hills beyond.

Arthur joined him there, to look out at the peaceful night, still a hint of nervous energy about him, as if he was still worried about Merlin’s reaction to this charming place.

“I really do love it here,” Merlin said, to set Arthur’s mind at ease.

Arthur nodded.  Just a jerk of his head.  Still far too preoccupied. 

“I mean… Look at it.  Vineyards, rolling hills…”  Merlin poked Arthur’s side. “You could almost call it _romantic_ -”

“Yes.  Well.”  Arthur shifted awkwardly in place.  “We’d best put our things away.  Now.  So we can get some sleep.”

Merlin watched Arthur walk over to his suitcase, wondering how Arthur had missed the definite hint in his words.  “But-“

“We’ve an early start tomorrow.”

Merlin looked at the bed, with its soft blankets and pillows and plenty of room to do just about everything he’d been planning during the long damn car ride that day.  “But don’t you want to-?”

“We’re getting up at sunrise,” Arthur said, already rummaging through his things.  “Now where is my toothbrush…  Can’t even pack the simplest things…”

Sunrise, Merlin thought.  But- The last time Arthur had woken him at sunrise, it was-

“We are not going hunting!” Merlin burst out. 

Arthur looked up, startled.  Then irritation shoved back his shoulders and tipped up his chin. “Yes, Merlin.  That’s what I want to do on our holiday. Go hunting.  For wild boar.”

Merlin crossed his arms and tilted his head, eyes narrowing.  “You see, when you use that tone, I can’t tell if you’re being wildly sarcastic or completely serious.”

“Let’s have it be a surprise, then, shall we?” Arthur said sweetly.

“You’re joking.  You have to be joking.  Right?  Arthur?”

“Unpack your things!” Arthur shouted, and strode off to the washroom.

“I’m not going boar hunting on my Italian holiday!” Merlin shouted across the room.

“Get ready for bed!”

Merlin yanked open his suitcase.  “Enormous arse…”

“I heard that!”

“You did not!” Merlin shouted, then winced at incriminating himself. “Dammit,” he muttered, amid the echoing sound of Arthur’s laughter.

*********

The next morning Merlin woke courtesy of a pillow landing on his head.

“Arthur,” he grumbled, and pushed it away. With a groan he pushed himself to his elbow, inhaling a deep breath of grape-sweetened fresh air, and blinking into the brilliant sunlight shining through their open patio doors.

 “Get up, come on,” Arthur said.

Merlin watched him approach the bedside, already dressed in a stupidly flattering tight white t-shirt and blue jeans.  Not fair, Merlin thought.   No one should be that attractive first thing in the morning.  

“Get your lazy arse out of bed,” Arthur told him, entirely ruining the moment.

“Why do I have to get up so early?” Merlin asked, unable to prevent the whine.

“Because the horses are ready.”

Merlin stared up at Arthur, while his brain caught up with his ears.  “Horses?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, oddly tense and definitely hiding something.  “Now eat your breakfast and get dressed.”

Merlin sat up, rubbing at his head, wondering if he’d been concussed while he’d been sleeping.

“I’ll be outside,” Arthur announced, and without awaiting a reply, walked out the door.

“Horses,” Merlin repeated, and swung his legs out of bed. 

Upon the bedside table, there sat a white ceramic tray. Bread and muffins and tiny jellies were stacked upon its place, beside a glass of orange juice and a tiny cup of coffee.

“Definitely hit my head while I was sleeping,” Merlin said, reaching for the coffee first.

A half hour later, Merlin walked out into the beautifully crisp morning, drawing in another wonderfully fresh lungful of air, thick with life and scented with the vines crawing up and down the green hillsides below. 

 “About time,” Arthur called, and got up from where he’d been reclining upon the lawns, at the very edge of the hilltop, overlooking the sunlit vineyards. 

“We really are going horseback riding?” Merlin asked, because a white mare was tethered to the nearby olive tree, a young black stallion right beside her.

Arthur moved next to the stallion, tugging the reins free from the tree trunk. “You thought I was joking?”

Merlin peered around the small stucco house.  “I don’t see any stables,” he said, absently patting the mare’s neck.  “Where did they come from?”

“The main villa’s stables.”

“Oh.  All right.  But how-?”

“My horse is called Nightshade,” Arthur interrupted.  “Yours is called Butterfly.”

Merlin paused with a foot in the stirrups, glaring over at where Arthur swung himself gracefully into the saddle, amused at his little joke.

“Malvasia,” Arthur told him, smiling.

“What’s that?”

“Your horse’s name.  It’s actually Malvasia.  The same name as the grapes they grow here.”

“You know the name of the grapes?”

“Among other things,” Arthur informed him, and urged his horse down the hill.  As he left the shelter of the olive trees, the sunlight shone upon his blond hair like a crown, radiating off his white shirt like the magic that had loved him since birth.

It must be magic, Merlin decided.  There was no other explanation.  There was no way Arthur should look so kingly dressed in modern clothes.  And yet there he was, regal and noble astride his stallion, jeans straining under thick thigh muscles, t-shirt tight across Arthur’s back, and oh god he needed to stop thinking like this, if he didn’t want to be _very_ uncomfortable in the saddle-

“Merlin!”

“Coming, sire!” Merlin called, climbing with a wince onto his mare.

It was an easy ride down the hillside, over soft grasses to the vineyards.  Still, Merlin nearly fell off twice on the steep grade, woefully out of practice.

Arthur was waiting for him at the bottom of the incline, nose screwed up in obvious disapproval.  “Honestly, Merlin, you-“

“Are horrible at riding, yes, I know, I know.  It’s called a car, Arthur.  People drive them?”

“Not through a vineyard,” Arthur said, and spurred his horse onward.

For a while they rode in peaceful silence, the calls of the birds its only interruption.

When Arthur showed no indication of telling him where they were going, Merlin finally broke the silence.   “So how are you intending to hunt?”

“Hunt what?”

“The wild boar.” 

Arthur’s expression suggested Merlin was being especially slow. “We’re not hunting, Merlin.”

“We’re not?”

“No.  We’re riding.  Touring the countryside.  Enjoy the summer’s day.  Although if you insist, I’m certain I could fashion a weapon out of one of these grape trellises, and-“

“Riding, yes, always did love riding.  Best way to see the countryside, I often say.”

“You do not.”

“I do today.”

For a long while they rode through the countryside, along the edges of vineyards and the outskirts of farms, venturing into woods when they found them, to cool off from the summer sun shining down from turquoise blue skies.

After the third time Arthur checked his mobile- and where Arthur had hidden that he had no idea- Merlin heaved a dramatic sigh.  “We have seriously got to have a talk about your technology addiction, Arthur.”

Arthur startled, almost dropped his mobile, then glared at Merlin as if it were somehow his fault. “I don’t have an addiction.  I was checking the time so we can be back for lunch.  Which we will be, if we start back now.  Something I know for sure because I _checked my mobile_.”

“Fine, sure, whatever you say,” Merlin said, and pulled his horse to the left.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, pausing in going the opposite direction.

“Back to the house.  It’s this way.”

“You’re sure?”

Merlin touched the magic of the land, and slid easily into the distance, to their home upon the hill. “Definitely this way.”  

For a wonder, Arthur didn’t challenge him. Just moved his horse to his side.  “You have your sense of direction back, then?”

“I do, yes.”

“Easier here than in London, I take it.”

“You can say that again.” Merlin stretched out his hand to the bumblebees dancing amid the grape leaves.  Two flew over to rest upon his palm, taking a moment’s rest from their toils.

“Talking to the bees, now, are you?”

Merlin heard the fondness beneath the jibe, and couldn’t help but smile.  “They told me you should stop using your mobile so much.”

“They did not.”

“They would have done, if they knew what a mobile was.”

“I already told you. I brought my mobile to check the time.  So we don’t miss lunch.”

“Something I assume is being delivered by the same people who brought me breakfast?”

Arthur straightened in his saddle, indignant.  “ _I_ brought you breakfast.”

“Oh come on.  You don’t expect me to believe that you walked all the way back to the villa, and then carried that heavy tray all the way back to the house!”

“Of course I didn’t walk.  I drove.”

Merlin nearly fell out of the saddle twisting to glare at Arthur, the bees flying off with an irritated buzz. “You drove my _car_?”

“It’s not like driving is difficult,” Arthur said, despite the fact that his previous attempt at it had wound up with them driven off the road and a live pheasant in the back seat.

“I can’t believe you-!  And without-!“  Merlin jerked the horse’s reins in aggravation, startling the horse and nearly pitching him to the ground.

“Just terrible horsemanship,” Arthur laughed, and spurred his horse into a gallop, riding off between the trellises.

“There better not be a scratch on it!” Merlin yelled at his back.  “Can you believe him?” he asked his mare. 

Malvasia shook her head and snorted.

“That’s what I keep telling him, but does he listen?  No, of course not.”

Another snort, and stomp of the mare’s hoof.

“Yes, fine, but that’s no excuse for-“  Merlin rubbed his face with his hands.  “Look, just catch him, will you?  I want to- Woah! Not that fast!”

Despite nearly falling off his mare twice, Merlin finally caught Arthur up, on the gravel road leading to the house.  Arthur had stopped right by the car, blond hair wind swept and an enormous grin upon his face.

“You see?” Arthur said proudly. “Your car is perfectly safe.”

“That is not perfectly safe!” Merlin yelled, because his Bentley was parked upon a patch of torn up muddy grass, the driver’s door inches away from a tree.

“Whatever are you talking about? It’s clearly in one piece.”

“You almost hit that tree!”

“Yes, but I didn’t.”

Merlin watched Arthur falter at what he’d said, then pretend as if he’d meant to say it. “You had to crawl over the seats,” Merlin told him.  “To get out of the car.  You had to crawl across the seats and climb out of the passenger’s door-“

“The steering clearly needs adjusting,” Arthur said haughtily, and urged his horse up the drive.

“I think the driver needs adjusting,” Merlin muttered.

“I heard that,” Arthur called back.

“I meant for you to hear that!” Merlin yelled.  “I always mean for you to hear that!  How do you not realise that by now?”  He leaned forward to speak in the mare’s ear.  “You see what I have to put up with?”

This time a whinny and a shake of the horse’s head.

“What do you mean, ‘Just wait?  What for what?  Wait- Where are you going?  Woah!  Come on, woah!  I want to look at my car!” 

But his mare clearly had other ideas, entirely ignoring him and trotting up the drive, not slowing down until she rounded the corner of the house.

At the edge of the hilltop, in the shady shelter of olive trees, an enormous red blanket had been spread out upon the grass. Upon it sat a large wicker picnic basket, a bottle of wine,  and two glasses.

Arthur was over by the tree, tying his stallion’s reins to the trunk. “What do you think?” he asked, without looking up.

Merlin could only stare, perplexed. “Is this… What is… Where did this come from?”

“I arranged it.”

“You?”

“Well, with Suzanna’s help,” Arthur said, patting his stallion on the neck.

The horse? Merlin almost asked, before realizing that Arthur meant someone at the villa, and anyway the horse was a stallion and male, and what in the world was happening anyway?

“So are you getting down or not?” Arthur demanded, then winced, and shook his head.

“Sorry.  Right.”

“I meant- Take your time,” Arthur said, glancing over, then away. 

Merlin climbed down from the saddle and took a moment to get his legs under him, a little wobbly from the long ride.  As he stretched out his back, he watched Arthur walk to the edge of the blanket, toe off his trainers, then kneel down beside the picnic basket.

“There should be sandwiches,” he said, opening up the closed lid to peer inside.  “Those panini things you had.  The ones you liked.  In that village.  I can’t remember the name of the place.   Beautiful church, remember?”  Arthur glanced up, licked his lips, then looked down again.  “And there’s bread.  Freshly made.  Just today.”

Merlin walked over to the blanket and kicked off his shoes.  When he stepped next to where Arthur was rifling through the basket, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before.

There, behind the basket, lay a bouquet of red roses, bound with a satin bow.

“Um,” Merlin said, and pointed.

Arthur looked up, then over, and sat back on his heels. “Oh,” he said, as if just realizing they were there.  “Yes, I.”  He picked up the bouquet.  Stared at it a long moment.  Then held it out to Merlin.

“They’re… for me?” Merlin heard himself say.

“You like flowers,” Arthur said, like an accusation.

“Yes.  Yes, I do.”

“Then take them.”

Merlin took the flowers and sniffed at them. “Arthur-“

“Lunch,” Arthur announced, and started pulling out plates.  “We should have lunch.”

Merlin knelt by Arthur’s side, feeling as though he’d fallen into one of those dreams, the kind you had when you’d eaten something a little spoiled the night before, that pitched you into fever dreams.

“Strawberries,” Arthur muttered, tossing muffins and grapes and scones to the blanket.  “There are supposed to be strawberries...”

“These are all my favourite foods,” Merlin said, making Arthur knock over the bowl of strawberries he’d just successfully discovered, knocking them all over the blanket.

Arthur looked over at him, panicked, as if his deepest secret had been discovered.

“Is that wine from here?” Merlin asked quickly, feeling suddenly desperate for a glass.

“Yes. Yes, it is.  It’s-” Arthur glanced wildly around.  “Where is that wine opener…” 

“Let me,” Merlin said, and nodded at the bottle.

Arthur jolted as the bottle’s wrappings unwound, then watched with wide eyes as the cork eased out and fell away. 

“Unless you- Oh- Did you want to-?”

“No, that’s all right, that’s- Thank you,” Arthur finished, oddly flustered.  After he fetched both of them glasses, he poured wine into each one.  “Here,” he said, and thrust one of them out to Merlin.

Merlin reached for it, but stopped short.  Because Arthur’s hand was shaking, the wine vibrating in its glass.  “What-“ he began, and covered Arthur’s hand with his own.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re really not.”

“If you’ll just take it-“

“I will when you tell me what’s wrong-“

“Merlin will you just-“ Arthur tried to force the glass into his hand just as Merlin pulled way, spilling glass all over the blanket and the basket and the food. 

“Dammit,” Arthur snapped, and grabbed for a napkin, only to knock over the entire wine bottle.  “The hell!” he burst out, and jammed the bottle back into the basket. 

“Calm down, will you?”

“How can I calm down?  This entire _thing_ is ridiculous!”

“Well I didn’t ask you to do any of this,” he said tightly.

“No, I don’t mean- Not the picnic. I mean this!” Arthur said, and waved his hand between the two of them.

Merlin leaned back, hand pressed to his stomach, because that had felt like a punch to the gut.

“No!” Arthur said, looking horrified, even grabbing Merlin’s shoulders.  “No, not- I didn’t mean us!  I would never….  That’s not…”

“Arthur,” Merlin began, trying to keep calm.  “What in the _hell_ is going on?”

“Get up,” Arthur told him, and stood up, pulling Merlin with him as well.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Turn round,” Arthur told him, hands on Merlin’s arms, turning him in place. “Yes.  Right there.  Stand just like that.  With the view of the countryside behind me.”

“The view of the-?” Merlin began.

And then Arthur dropped to one knee.

Realization knocked every other thought out of Merlin’s head except the one impossible thought, the one he had known was coming, the one he still couldn’t believe, even with Arthur kneeling there, clearly about to propose.

“I don’t know why this is so difficult,” Arthur said, more desperate than Merlin could ever remember seeing him, breathless as if he’d just been training. “There’s no reason it should be difficult.  There just isn’t.  We’re already bound together.  In more ways than I can count.  We have been, for over a thousand years.”

Merlin stared down, utterly speechless, as Arthur’s hand tightened around his own, sweaty and trembling and holy hell he was really going to do this, he really was-

“I had words prepared,” Arthur said hoarsely, his blue eyes gone very round.  “I swear to you, Merlin, I did.  So very many words.  To tell you all you mean to me.  To tell you how I feel.  And yet…”  He swallowed, his jawline flexing as he fought for control.  “And yet now… In the moment… None of them are right.  None of them are _enough_.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, overwhelmed by Arthur’s distress, near speechless at the sight of him, a great king before him upon his knees, which was wrong, so very wrong-  “Arthur, you don’t-“

“Yes, I _do_ ,” Arthur insisted, and squeezed his hand hard. “Long ago,” he began, his voice shaking as he spoke, “when- when we met- in Camelot-“

“Marry me,” Merlin blurted out.

Arthur stilled, lips pursed around a word.

Oh god, Merlin thought.  Oh god oh god-

Arthur’s expression shifted, that vein standing out in his forehead that meant a building explosion.

“Um.”  Merlin swallowed.  “If you want to, I mean.”

“Did you just _propose_?” Arthur demanded, his voice high pitched and cracking.

“I, um-”

“Do you not see me here?  Down on _one knee_?”

“Yes, I-“

“You- you- interrupted me!”

“Yes!  Sorry!”  Merlin cringed.  “I mean not sorry!  Not about what I said!  But- the- the- interrupting!  That’s what I’m sorry for!  Not the other thing!  The thing that I-“

“Will you shut up and let me finish proposing!” Arthur bellowed, startling a dozen birds from the olive trees, olives raining down upon their heads.  “The hell!” he yelled up at the trees, furious and indignant and every bit the irritated monarch he was.

The sight had Merlin choking out a laugh, which was apparently both inappropriate and infuriating, judging by Arthur’s response.

“This is not funny!” Arthur snapped, indignant.

“Absolutely not,” Merlin said, unsuccessfully fighting his grin.

“This is a very serious moment of great importance!”

“Very serious, absolutely, yes, I agree completely-”

“Then stop grinning like an idiot,” Arthur said, but his lips were twitching at the corners, and as Merlin watched, he choked out a poorly disguised laugh, followed by another that was less so, until his smile was an echo of Merlin’s own.

“Is it funny now?” Merlin asked, as Arthur climbed to his feet.

“Infuriating man,” Arthur told him fondly, taking hold of Merlin’s hands. “Gods only know why I’m so very madly in love you.”

Merlin’s laughter ceased, shock sweeping it away.  Because in all the times Arthur spoke of his feelings, he’d never quite said it that way before.

“I do, you know,” Arthur said softly.  “Love you madly.  Beyond all reason.  Beyond all words.  More than I ever have loved anyone else before.  More than I ever will.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur stepped closer, cupping the side of Merlin’s face with a warm hand.  “Please tell me you know that.  You do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Merlin whispered.  “I do.”

Arthur choked on his breath and pulled Merlin into an embrace, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

Merlin looked over Arthur’s shoulder at the wine and the picnic, and the horses tethered by the olive trees, and the beautiful green Italian hills, stretching in the peace that surrounded their private hilltop house.

“Ask me again,” Merlin whispered, into Arthur’s ear.

“Marry me,” Arthur asked at once.

“Yeah, all right,” Merlin told him in response.

Arthur laughed and leaned away, smiling as proud as if he’d just won a tourney, instead of committing himself to the insanity of Merlin at his side.

“See?” Merlin asked, feeling lightheaded.  “That wasn’t so difficult, was it.”

“Not when I’m uninterrupted, no.”  Arthur stepped back, and pressed a hand to Merlin’s chest when he tried to follow.  “Let me get something first,” he said softly.

Merlin watched Arthur shove a hand in his pocket.  When he lifted his hand between them, he opened his fingers to reveal two beautiful golden bands.

“Before we left Avalon,” Arthur said, “I retrieved these from the manor vaults.  This one,” and here he picked up a thick gold band etched with vines, “belonged to my mother’s father.  A compassionate and fair king, who ruled by the heart, not the sword.  I thought perhaps that one would be most appropriate for you.” Arthur looked up, a shy smile turning his face into that of a youth.  “Exchanging rings is still common practice in these situations, is it not?”

“It… Yes?” Merlin said, dazed.

“Then hold out your hand.”

Merlin lifted his hand, and saw it shaking, but could do nothing at all to try and stop it.

“It’s the fourth finger now, I believe?” Arthur asked breathlessly, already easing the band onto Merlin’s finger. 

“Read that on the internet?” Merlin asked absently, because Arthur- the King of Camelot and the Five Kingdoms, and the unofficial guardian of all the world- was about to _put a ring on his finger_ -

“I can do research too,” Arthur informed him, and slid the ring up Merlin’s finger to the knuckle, where no ring had ever sat before. 

Merlin stared down at the band, magic undulating like the sea beneath him, pounding from his thundering heart. 

“That’s…” Arthur said softly, staring at the sight of it.

“I know,” Merlin whispered in response.

Arthur cleared his throat.  “So.  Your turn.”

Merlin held out his palm.  Let Arthur place the ring into it.  Then stared, recognising it.

“Father did wear it,” Arthur said softly. “But like so many of his things, it wasn’t his.  It was my grandfather’s.  His father.  Who had it made for my grandmother.  The love of his life.”

“Okay,” Merlin said, and nodded.  “Okay, that’s…  Hold out your hand now?”

Arthur did so, fingers trembling almost as much as Merlin’s had, as Merlin eased the ring onto his outstretched finger. 

When it pressed against Arthur’s regal knuckle, Arthur exhaled loudly and gathered Merlin into an embrace.

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed and clutched handfuls of Arthur’s shirt and trembled so badly that he thought he would collapse, thinking only:    _At last, at last, at last…_

“ _Finally_ ,” Arthur groaned, as if he’d at last been given his heart’s desire.

It tipped Merlin right over the edge, a sob wrenching itself up from the core of him, breaths wheezing as more followed it out.  “Sorry,” he whispered.  “Sorry-“

“Stop,” Arthur said, choked, and pulled him closer, stroking his hair.

“It’s just- You have no _idea_ -”

“Come here,” Arthur urged, and pressed a hand to the moisture upon Merlin’s cheek, tilting his head to meet the wet slide of his mouth.

Merlin moaned into the kiss, surrendering wholly to Arthur’s touch, yielding his body and his soul and his magic to this man who was his life, his heart, his one true love.

He felt magic singing in the valleys, echoing through his bones and his blood, blessing the union of a man made of magic, and a king gifted by magic to the world.

 _Finally,_ it sang, joyous _.  Finally, our two hearts, beating together, at long last…_

The loud rustling of leaves had Arthur leaning away and looking up, his lips full and wet, his cheeks flushed pink in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves.

Merlin smiled stupidly at him, feeling drunk and besotted probably looking the fool, feeling happier than he’d ever imagined in his life, which was saying a lot, considering how many of them he’d had.

“Did you do that?” Arthur asked curiously, still looking up.

“Hmm?” Merlin tipped his head back, and saw flowers unfurling above them, amid thousands of swelling olives in green and red and brown. 

“You may want to stop before someone notices,” Arthur said, smiling down at the ground now, where buttercups and violets were lifting from the lawns, strawberries emerging among them.

“Yes, all right,” Merlin said, though his magic put up a fight about it, petulantly wanted to echo the joy resonating from Merlin’s heart, at finally having Arthur for his own, not just bound by magic but bound by choice- because Arthur had just _asked to marry him_ \- how was this even _possible_ -?

“Merlin,” Arthur chuckled, and gently shooed a cluster of blue butterflies away.

Merlin rested his forehead upon Arthur’s shoulder, smiling stupidly against his t-shirt, rather pathetically pleading with the magics of the world to not humiliate him any further, and to settle back into the earth where they belonged.

Arthur dropped a hand to take hold of Merlin’s own. “You have no idea how much I wanted to give you this,” he said, tapping the golden band.

“How much?” Merlin asked, not caring how pathetic he sounded.

“All those times I saw you with my mother’s sigil...  It was all I could do not to propose then and there.”

“What, because I was a love-struck fool?”

“If you were a love-struck fool, then I was one as well.  I was actually bothered the night at the gala.  When you couldn’t fit the sigil into the pocket of that damned tight tuxedo.”

“I did, actually.  Have it with me, I mean.”

“I would definitely have noticed it.”

“Not in the leg of my trousers.”

“The leg?”

“I might, maybe, have asked the tailors to put in a pocket near the foot.  Where you used to hide your dagger.”

Arthur watched in amazement as Merlin shyly lowered his gaze.

“Stupid, I know-“

“No,” Arthur said, breathless.  “No it’s not-“

Merlin leaned into Arthur’s kiss, eagerly taking what was offered, before taking even more.  By the time they parted, Merlin was panting and dizzy, the taste of Arthur in his mouth and magic vibrating like electricity in the air.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, breathless and smiling, glancing at the roses that had wound themselves around the tree trunks, all in a brilliant Pendragon red.

“That’s just _humiliating_ ,” Merlin groaned, and hid his face against Arthur’s neck.

“Why is it humiliating?” Arthur asked, sounding honestly perplexed.

“Oh right.  As if you’re _not_ going to call me a girl now.”

“That would be sexist,” Arthur said, in the authoritative tones of one who had just learned about such things.   “Now come on.  Let’s not waste the lovely garden you’ve given me.  It’s very… _romantic_.”

Before Merlin could protest, Arthur tackled him to the blankets, then pressed him down to his back as Arthur stretched out as his side. 

“It’s not romantic,” Merlin said, as butterflies flew over his head, and the flowers kept blooming in the trees up above.

“Of course not,” Arthur agreed, shifting to drape himself over Merlin’s body, kissing the stretch of his neck. 

Merlin tilted his head to encourage the press of Arthur’s lips.  “It’s just nature.”

“Hmm, nature, yes...”

“I didn’t even mean to do it.”

Arthur leaned away, to look down at him, propped up on an elbow.  “You don’t have to apologise.  And you don’t have to be ashamed.  I you don’t have to hold back, either.”

“Hold back? With what?”

“With whatever your magic can do.  With whatever _you_ can do.  It’s a part of you, and I want to know it.  Just like I want to know you. All of you.  All that you were. All that you are.  All that you can possibly be.  Everything.”

“What, even the parts where I transformed into a bird?” Merlin asked, the joke forcing its way out past the swell of emotion filling his chest.

“Perhaps those parts most of all.”  Arthur pressed another kiss to Merlin’s lips. “It must be amazing,” he said, with another kiss.  “Being a bird.”  And then another tender kiss.  “I wouldn’t mind knowing what that was like myself.  If you knew someone who could arrange it.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, and clutched Arthur’s hand. 

“Although not,” Arthur went on, wry, “at this exact moment.”

Merlin hadn’t begun to recover when Arthur’s mouth was upon his own, tasting the sob that choked from his chest, and the whimper that followed soon after, until the only thing left were Merlin’s moans, and the song of the birds in the trees up above.

******

It wasn’t until much later, as the sun was setting over the Tuscan hillsides, that they spoke of magic again. 

They’d fallen asleep naked upon the rumpled ruins of the picnic blanket. Arthur was still dozing behind him, his chest warm against Merlin’s back, his legs tucked under Merlin’s thighs, an arm flung over his waist.  

We’re spooning, Merlin thought happily.  That’s what we’re doing.  Spooning.

For a while he lay watching the orange sunset slide lazily into the purples of evening, feeling his magic sliding like syrup around him and Arthur both, resonating with the contentment inside him.

When, Merlin wondered, have I ever felt this happy?

Very possibly, the answer was ‘never’.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, chest pressing against Arthur’s back.  He slid a hand lazily up Merlin’s chest, wonderfully naked as he squirmed against his back.

“Awake, finally?” Merlin asked softly.

“Mmm.  Someone wore me out.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“Of course not.”

Merlin chuckled, and picked up Arthur’s hand, pressing his knuckles to his lips.

“Tomorrow should be interesting,” Arthur murmured, against Merlin’s neck.

“Why’s that?”

With a grunt, Arthur shoved himself to an elbow.  Rested his chin upon Merlin’s shoulder. “Because of that,” he said, nodding out at the rejuvenated grape vines, all healthy and bursting with grapes ready for harvest.

“That was your fault,” Merlin said, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment.  “That thing you did.  With your mouth.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Arthur murmured, and nipped at the shape of Merlin’s ear. “So, what course of action would you suggest, my wild sorcerer?”

Merlin rolled onto his back, smiling crookedly, an eyebrow arching up.  “Wild sorcerer?”

“Well you’re certainly not tame,” Arthur said, and tilted his head to exhibit the evidence of the love bites he bore. 

“Nor are you, my lord,” Merlin said, tensing the muscles of his body just to feel the ache, from when Arthur had really let loose there at the end.

“Well then,” Arthur said, not a hint of blush on him this time, “in that case, I shall leave it to you to handle.  While I tend to more pressing needs.”

Merlin laughed up at the olive trees as Arthur shifted to lay half atop him, the warm skin of his chest a welcome weight atop Merlin’s own.

“First thing needing my attention,” Arthur said, playful, “is this spot I missed marking earlier, right here.”

Merlin slid his fingers through Arthur’s hair, humming in pleasure as Arthur sucked upon his shoulder.  “I’m not dreaming,” he sighed out.  “Oh my god.  I’m actually not.”

Arthur paused, lifting his head, looking abruptly concerned.

“I mean it,” Merlin said, and for the first time, really did.

“You sound very sure,” Arthur said, curious.

“I am.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because my dreams,” Merlin said happily, “were never, _ever_ , this damn good.”

Arthur swallowed hard, jaw working against an obvious swell of emotion.  But then he shook his head.  Pressed a tender kiss to Merlin’s lips. “The spring,” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“We should have the handfasting ceremony then.  In the spring.  A time of rebirth.  Of new beginnings.”

“At the castle.”

“All right.  At the castle.”

Yes, Merlin thought.  Yes, yes, that was right, he could feel it.  All of magic was thrumming with approval, with the thought of their new beginning, right where it all began.

“On the Northern Battlements,” Merlin said.  “Above where a spoiled prince tried to take my head off with a mace.”

“And an insolent sorcerer stopped me using magic.”

“Spoiled prat.”

“Clumsy idiot.”

Merlin smiled against Arthur’s lips. “Amazing how some things don’t change.”

“Amazing how some things do,” Arthur said, and proved his point by kissing him.

As desire slid lazily through Merlin’s body, he had to admit Arthur was right.  Some things did in fact change.  Like a servant becoming a friend.  Or a friend becoming a lover. 

Or a husband, his brain reminded him.

Merlin smiled against Arthur’s lips.  Yes, he thought.  That too.

“Stop smiling, will you?  I can’t kiss you properly.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said, condescending, and tried to kiss him again.

But Arthur leaned away, his expression gone abruptly intense. “Say the other thing.”

Merlin tilted his head, fond nearly beyond words, knowing what Arthur meant for him to say.  “What thing is that?”

“You know very well what thing.”

Merlin smiled, and sliding his fingers along Arthur’s strong jaw. “Yes, _my love_.”

But Arthur shook his head.  “No.  Not that.”

“Then what?”

Arthur leaned down to whisper the secret against his lips. “My _betrothed_.”

Merlin stared at the ring upon his own finger, remembering Arthur’s voice as he’d said “ _marry me_ ”, standing here on the Italian hilltop, amid a picnic he’d set out just for him, nothing but peace and life and new beginnings all around them.

“You did it, you know,” Merlin said softly.  “You gave me the memory you wanted.”

The joy that swept over Arthur’s smiling face was like sunrise over Camelot, and the sight of his king returned from the lake, and the first time Arthur had truly accepted him, all he was, everything.

“Good,” Arthur breathed, and nodded, eyes sparkling far too much.  “That’s…”  He cleared his throat, jaw twitching.

“My betrothed,” Merlin choked out, hand sliding around Arthur’s nape to pull him closer.

“As I am yours,” Arthur whispered, then kissed him with all the tenderness in his voice, Merlin answering back with his own, as new roses bloomed all around them—golden magic amid Pendragon red.

 

 

 _The day in Camelot, where it all began..._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 9/16/18 - In case you're curious about how their Avalon friends reacted, you can look at this [fluffy little text-based story just posted today](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004993). 
> 
>  
> 
> **Downloads of this story are available -- with art included:**  
> [Epub format download](https://www.dropbox.com/s/hllov5mq3tdw9q0/Our%20Destinies%20Our%20Own.epub?dl=0)  
> [Mobi format download](https://www.dropbox.com/s/37ycdx9wk40jq6c/Our%20Destinies%20Our%20Own.mobi?dl=0)
> 
>  
> 
> _Please remember "Kudo" if you liked the story -- or even "Comment"!_
> 
>  
> 
>  **This story never, EVER would have been completed, if it were not for:**  
>  1\. The talented artist, Lao-Pendragon, who volunteered to work with me, and then very patiently did so, FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR that it took me to write this story. I have no regrets at taking so long to write this, because it resulted in So. Much. Glorious. Art.  
> 2\. My ever enthusiastic beta and constant cheerleader, [BlueSimplicity, ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimplicity/pseuds/BlueSimplicity)whose beautiful Merthur fics you should be sure to read  
> 3\. The people who Comment and Kudo my other stories -- really it's such a motivation to write, often on days when words, frustratingly, just will not work.
> 
> Thank you also to the BBC Merlin [After Camlann Big Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/After_Camlann_Big_Bang) moderators, for putting together this writer/artist team-up fest, and to the writer [camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle), for offering her Brit-Pick services!
> 
>    
>  **This story is a part of the canon-compliant "We Begin Again" 'Verse:**  
>  \- [Sweet Dreams of Mistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909749): _4 Years Before Camlann_  
>  \- [The Return of Magic (Upon Dragon's Wings):](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12463959) _1 Year Post Camlann_  
>  \- [Would you if you could (Remember)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749296): _30 Years Post Camlann_  
>  \- [And Like The Cycle Of The Year We Begin Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092269): _1,500 Years Post Camlann... When Arthur Returns_  
>  \- Our Destinies Our Own  
> \- [The word you're looking for is consort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004993): _short text-image based story, showing how their Avalon friends react to the Big News_  
>  \- [Ever Onward, Through Magic, Through Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819543): Arthur and Merlin's travels through the modern world
> 
> See more beautiful artwork from [Lao Pendragon on Tumblr](http://lao-pendragon.tumblr.com/) and on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lao_paperman)
> 
>  
> 
>  


End file.
